Her Second Chance
by hippiechick2112
Summary: What if Colonel Hogan had a lover? The story explores this through the eyes of Nikola Michalovich, who follows him through the prewar years and tells of her experiences with the horrors of Nazi Germany.
1. July 11, 1943

**Her Second Chance**

**Disclaimer and Note:**** First of all, I don't own any of the characters from ****Hogan's Heroes**** or any of the song lyrics that I have posted. I have merely taken the characters and involved them in a story I had been developing since I was a child watching ****Hogan's Heroes****, a good decade in the making. The songs (which some of you might recognize) are the ones that I liked best and have been my favorites for some time. I do thank those who have created the show and have written the songs, and who have motivated and inspired me to write a strange story. **

**I always thought about a female, a dominant figure and lover in Colonel Hogan's life and it whirled and was thrown around from there, especially after I saw **_**I Look Better in Basic Black**_**. How did she get to Stalag 13? Who is she and what unique circumstances might have landed her there? These questions bothered me until I finally developed them. Then, more questions popped up: can Hogan be as serious and quick-thinking as he portrays himself to be? And can there be a softer, more protective side to him to the people he loves? Despite Hogan's flirting, I always thought he had that other special person in his life and maybe an argument with that special someone made him go after other women because he felt so lost and lonely without her.**

**I do warn that this story deals with the serious, dark side of Nazi Germany and World War II (i.e. the Holocaust and constant death and shootings involved with it) and has some historical liberties to it (i.e. Medunits in England, names of real generals, etc., but I think we all took liberties with the latter) but most of it is historically accurate. It's also a bit sappy and serious. Remember, this is the story of a woman who has been the companion of Hogan and she is telling how she came to be, her childhood and meeting with Hogan and how she landed in Stalag 13. This is her story. If you wish to use this character, please email me with permission. Thank you for reading it!**

* * *

_Lt. Colonel Nikola Anna Michalovich sat down at the desk in her quarters at Barracks 2 at Luftstalag 13. She was distraught, worried, thinking about what has happened to her before she met him and her journey to this camp. She tried humming some songs of long ago, she knew that it usually helped her in times of trouble, but it was it was no use to her that morning. She also knew that just writing this down, like all else, would help her much like what her poetry did, but the war had shattered her dignity and destroyed her hopes so far. How can she write this down and tear down whatever demons she had? She had the love of someone, had friends to rely on and a cause that she can rally for. What more does she need?_

_She looked to the sleeping form on the top bunk. She loved this very being, the person who has saved her so many times, especially this last time. He had been her constant companion, even in the deaths of her family, and had put up with her for so long. He understood her as she understood him. She had argued with him, lost him in the war and had the golden chance of seeing him again in Stalag 13 despite what and who she was to the people here, no matter what side they were on. For now, their storms had passed over them and their comrades for now. They had some hope for the future for themselves, the men and of the camp._

_This was her second chance to start anew. She was bestowed upon her and now, she was going to take it and use it._

_Drawing a fresh paper in hand, she started to write her long-awaited memoirs: hopes, dreams, memories, dark moments and her own life, love and happiness. To her, there was nothing more she can do._

**July 11, 1943, 2200 Hours  
****Lt. Colonel Nikola Anna Michalovich, U.S. Army Nurse of M*A*S*H 6147: LC8547960  
****Auschwitz Survivor, Prisoner at Luftstalag 13 and Member of the Allied Underground**

I shudder trying to remember who I was and how I ever came to be. I could have met the firing squad or the hangman's noose so many times. I have had close calls with Death and Fate at Auschwitz and even being here at Stalag 13 as a suspected infamous spy. Today, though, it is not to be, and I know it. You'd think that I could even be shot be for I had written so far. It is not so. I am better at playing this game than the Gestapo is. I can keep secrets, hold into information forever and hide anything and not have anybody think about it _ever_.

It is long story, the journey from there to here. It even started before I even existed. But right at this moment, just thinking about my circumstances and where I am right now, it can just be called a second chance, a lucky break and even a coincidence that I survived the odds and met up with him again because of the conditions of my journey. We had our sad parting in London and very close shaves with Death (and there are so many of them between the both of us and it has been too numerous to keep track of them, so there is no bother). Before that, we had so many years together and careers that tore us apart at times, in which I considered to be an endurance of the love and respect we have for each other. We are life and devotion, a part of the strength of this prison camp's secret operation, and a team that seems almost indestructible, holding together men in order to destroy and defeat a common enemy.

This is the beginning of all things.


	2. Origins

Although we had a four year age difference (he was older) it didn't matter to us. We were alike in temperament, thinking and ability that many thought of us as twins instead of lovers and partners. It was quickly dismissed when they saw who we really were. With my fiery green eyes and red-gold hair, I give the appearance of a woman not to be reckoned with. I was soft and caring to those I loved and ruthless and aggressive when those I loved were threatened and hurt. I was also very prune to depression and had been known to be blunt and snappish when my temper rose. He, in the meantime, was just as dark-haired and -eyed and much more cautious and more thoughtful and fast thinking than I am (not so rash and headstrong, really). He also dismissed all of my paranoia and even countered them with more rational and logical thoughts. He was much more immune to stress but was very worrisome when I vexed him. I was more reckless than he was.

For the first fourteen and a half years of my life, I have never met him or even have known that he existed. He watched me from afar without my knowing, seeing who I am and what has truly happened to me. He never met me face-to-face until that day in the back of the alleyway on a cold day, where my stepbrothers were trying to kill me.

Forgive me for starting at the wrong point in time. It is careless of me to think that all people know where and how I came to be, but it is not so. That day in the alleyway that I mentioned marks a major turning point in my life. Yes, it is a day of some liberation from what I considered, childishly, to be a tyranny, and still do at times when I think about it. I should also fill in the blanks on how three strong-willed, yet easily manipulated members of my now-estranged family tried to kill me. This all started before I was born and even thought of, the real beginning of all things.

My father was a Jewish Russian soldier in the former tsar's army, religious first and devoted to country second. He had lived in the same Siberian village, Tobolsk, for the years of his childhood. He knew what happiness meant there, also seeing firsthand what political torture was to his country even if it was months after it happened and spread. If I remember correctly, it was a pocket of Siberia that supported Socialism, a theory of Karl Marx and Frederick Engels, hence his fascination with it later. It was also a village that held its reverence to the tsar and his family, but the ideals of Socialism was always about, especially with the exiles that came from the western side of the country.

Father had a great, devoted family who has been long gone in the folly of staying behind and protecting what was rightfully theirs in the village. But because Father was otherwise overprotected by this family, it never occurred to him that someday, he had to leave this place of safety. He was schooled carefully, smothered by his mother and spoiled by his brothers and sisters because he was the youngest of ten children. Indeed, Father has never left his home village until Alexander III released the _pogroms_, meant to destroy those of the Jewish faith. At eighteen, Father was sent from his village by my elderly grandfather, knowing he'd never see him or his family again because of their stubbornness and his siblings' want of staying behind with their families and their belongings.

They wanted him to have the life they wanted for themselves later and because he was the youngest and the most naïve, the world was put before him so he could experience it before it was taken away. And Father did leave with a new name and identity, however. Before heading to Moscow, Father promised many things, conditions that everyone begged him to consider before he went out west: that he'd practice the Jewish faith until the end of his life, marry and start a family and raise his children to be Jewish. He meant to keep these promises. Long after he waved goodbye to the February snowy landscape that he played in, a scene of which he kept to himself for years to come, he even attempted to uphold this legacy and the beliefs that he was left to keep.

As the dashing red-headed peasant Father made his way west to Moscow and was accepted into the tsar's army as his new name Peter Alexis Michalovich, young and ready to serve the Motherland of Russia. He served well, never went after the Jews in the _pogroms_ as he was asked and practiced the faith every evening secretly (especially on the Sabbath). As his rank grew, so did his privacy, for he had to keep himself a secret even in a roomful of nosy officers and inspectors. He was a loner and never attempted to gain any friends or influence. His goal was only to do his duty as a soldier, but to avoid hurting those that were of his faith. But he had a heart and helped his fellow countrymen well.

Years had passed without any detection of his identity and he marked a decade in such a glorious military. However, after the shaky 1905 October Manifesto, he met a young German noblewoman, who had just recently been widowed: my mother, Victoria von Rumey. Her dead husband had left her millions of dollars in America and marks in Germany, a voucher in America, stocks and of course, a home in Bridgeport, Connecticut, where her voucher was located. Baron von Rumey had connections in America and had insured that his wife and anybody else with her could reach America, just in case something had happened to the family or his death forced her to no longer live in Germany. And indeed, something _did_ happen to her in those months following her widowhood and that was in the handsome Russian soldier she saw. She left her home, her family and her dignity, to escape the black world of Death: the sudden passing of her husband.

In 1906, smitten and very much in love, Father asked leave of the Russian Army to pursuit his dream of marrying the beautiful German Victoria von Rumey. He was granted this by the tsar himself, Nicholas II. The weak ruler all-too-quickly accepted resignation and bid him a fond farewell, as Father had risen much in the decade and some years in which he was assigned to the tsar's military. Nicholas also told him of the importance of the family, something Father was eager to start with, knowing that he too chased love and within a decade's time, it cost him his life.

Understand this about Mother, though. Sweet as she was before bitter events settled into her mind and those around her, she rebelled against family tradition, but believed in the one she herself developed, establishing her own rules and iron rule. She took care of her ambitions and those she bothered to care for. She wanted her own way, sweet to achieve it at first and then throwing her powerful temper about (it was a scare tactic that served her well enough, and it worked often). Otherwise, she'd have someone else do her dirty work for her except in her case of blind love and devotion, something she was cautioned against as she secretly spirited herself away. Her politics were of different structure from the norm, what we call Hitler's government today, and her enthusiasm and wishful thinking that it would happen gave her more the reason to feel superior, pretending allegiance to the Kaiser. She liked total control of those around her and developed a hate of those not white, blonde-haired blue/green eyed and Protestant.

This made Father cringe. That was one of the reasons why he hesitated in marrying her. It did not matter how much he loved her. He never told her about his history as they courted graciously. He wanted to wait for the right time to tell her this heavy secret, a mistake that would cause rifts much later. He didn't want to ruin his chances of having a family.

Father kept his secret and kept it well even when he went through to Germany to see for himself if Mother's home was worth leaving Russia for. Even as he introduced himself to Mother's stricter family, they knew who he was ("Just by looking at him, that dirty Jew who walked in all proud in his Russian Cossack uniform," someone once boasted to me later). His silence about his history, and never a denial about anything, confirmed their suspicions.

So, for seven years afterward, the two of them battled her family for their marriage and a simple blessing. The more Father saw Mother for who she was, the more determined he was to keep his promises, no matter how much it would hurt him not to raise his family Jewish. It also doesn't help that Mother's sons from von Rumey (George, Warner and Kurt), by then children with iron wills like Mother, supported the family's claims that Father was a Jew, a dirty scoundrel that offered nothing but trouble and heartbreak. The latter two, who were twins, were strongly influenced by the former, only a few years older. This influence lasted them until now, when only last month, they were killed, a fault that I have deeply felt.

In early 1913 my parents and my stepbrothers packed their bags, the latter three by force, and fled to America. My parents secretly married through Christian rites on the boat, in which a Protestant clergyman blessed their marriage. They had left behind the rigid, shadowy clouds in Germany and headed to the great unknown. Beyond them America came into sight, Bridgeport laying itself open to them. With millions of dollars and a house to live in, there was never a lack of want. Mother had arranged everything in secret and was excited (perhaps the first time) that the turn of events was going in her direction. Life was terrific and off to a good start.

It became obvious later that year why they wed so quickly after six years of free love.


	3. Conflict and Reality

Father had told me once how they felt the moment they landed in America. It was described in one word: "Magnificent." How else can you describe the moment when you were all successfully processed at Ellis Island and meet your vouchers for the first time, finding that they were all as you dreamed them to be? How else can you describe the moment you see another beautiful family much like your own (or what you are going to have)? How excited can you be when your wife tells you that you will be a proud parent of a strong son later that year?

What other _feelings_ could there be in such exhilaration? The servants were hired ever-so-carefully, the house was perfect and even another addition to the family was becoming a dream come true.

And that was the line between the perfect dream and cold reality.

In 1913, our neighbor (the voucher) had a wife, three boys and a home that his family had held for generations. He had met his wife in Cleveland, where his first three sons were born. In the last few months of 1912, business brought him back to his parents' hometown of Bridgeport, Connecticut, where he inherited his home from distant relatives. He had, in the meantime, met Baron von Rumey when he went to New York City for a conference at the Stock Market. He was a shrewd businessman who had a chance-meeting with von Rumey and had caught his attention through his American ways of thinking, foreign to the German. He had the cleverness of a salesman, von Rumey noted, a sure head for business.

They had lunch together and talked about their lives, families and hopes and dreams for the future. Von Rumey had explained that he needed someone to assure safety into America for him and his family when the time came to come, and the other accepted responsibility in case such an incident happened. The voucher had even helped von Rumey in choosing a home, next door to his own, and kept it neat just so that when such a time came everything would be ready for the happy family. So, the man was proud to have von Rumey's wife, her new husband and family to have to watch over.

Disaster and strain struck my parents only a few months later. Mid-1913 I was born, to the disappointment and bitterness to Mother, who was hoping for a son after three were blessed to her. She promised Father that such a son that would inherit his name, the estates and even gain the same strength that the elder brothers had. _But it was not to be_.

The moment I was born and was announced female, Mother resigned herself into despair in mere hours. She didn't want to hold me or have anything to do with me just because I was not the hoped-for male child she said she was going to have. She just ordered me to be handed over to my nurse, Margaret Bradley (Maggie, I called her) and immediately turned her attention to the social whirl of the city which she chose to participate in a handful days after I was born. It became a relief for her. It was a way to forget her failure to continue the new family name. This failure was perhaps a sign that she was not to have any more male children; that perhaps, her marriage was to be given weak, female children as offspring. Her erratic behavior that followed this characterized her in the following years: a fine, hard edge to her prophetic way of life. The parties, lasting long into the night, never failed to amuse her. She forgot where she was and what she was doing. Often times, she came to the house disoriented and drunk.

Father was delighted with me, of course. It didn't matter if I wasn't the male child that was hoped for, but a girl who is easier to teach and lovelier to behold. The female child could grow into a creature with beauty beyond words. Marriage was all-the-more easier to find and a good marriage can make him a good profit.

At the first chance, Father held me and would take care of me himself, dismissing Maggie and taking me for walks in the daylight as Mother was sleeping off her last drinks. He took me everywhere and showed me off to his friends from a new organization he formed and joined: the American Socialist Movement. His friends in this Socialist movement, Nicholas Remalandevich, Alexander Belkov and Paul Kamenska, were also my guardians. It was as Nicholas said later, "Your guardian angels, as the Christians would say." Paul and Alexander, always the more optimistic ones, laughed and Paul even would wink. Nicholas was always the more cynical one of the four friends, brothers really. He was also the one who taught me that I have to listen to my intuition. I always had that feeling in the back of my neck, a prickling, that tells me that something is wrong. This scares me every time I feel it. I usually ignored it although it proved to me time and again that I was wrong to dismiss the feeling of danger. Nicholas was the one to tell me to listen to it more carefully so that, after so many years, I somewhat listen to it.

But in anyway, through the strain on the marriage (differences in opinions on raising me, Mother's partying and drinking, Father's delight at my birth), _something_ did happen and it changed the course of my life forever.

Father, at this time, had thought that this was the time to tell Mother who he really was. One day, almost a year to the day that I was born, as she was preparing for yet another last-night party in the city (she was sober at the moment, I might add, which might explain her angry responses), he knocked on her bedroom door and asked that he talk to her. The two were still friends enough to talk to each other. After I was born, there were more and more arguments, much to some people's delight. My birth undid all that they felt before on the boat that headed to the unknown called America.

"Oh, for whatever reason, Peter?" Mother still sat in front of the vanity's mirror, applying lipstick and creating a thin line in her lips: a red smear of leanness.

"Victoria, there is something that I need to tell you. It's something that I have wanted to tell you for years…" Father trialed and hesitated, finally telling her, in simple black and white words, very bluntly, I might add: "Victoria, I am a Socialist Jew. I wish that little Nikola be raised as such."

Mother looked at him with her cold eyes through the mirror, the same blue eyes that I have always feared even today as she lays dead and in ashes. She silently swiveled in her seat and left the room, ignoring every desperate protestation and pleading from Father, who suddenly knew of her displeasure and of her temper that would ensue if he didn't explain it more properly. "Victoria, I love you and forever will. I have wanted you to know the truth before it's too late for Nikola. I promised my family –"

Mother faced him. The last words to him were a burning hole to his already broken heart: "You bastard, you damned bastard! You have let me chase a dream for seven years and look where it's landed us, too! Away from my family and a place where I knew they'd never see me again. No, Peter, I'll never hear the end of it from you. I've had enough! I'm divorcing you and you're leaving, for good! I'm taking _Nikola_ with me, away from this house and away from you, most certainly! You'll never see her again and my promise to you will be that she will be without happiness because of _you_. I'll be sure to remind her of it daily."

Maggie had told me a few years later that Mother had slapped Father and then stormed back to her room, dress and makeup still on. She didn't even come out for her party although servants' rumors said that she attempted to jump out the window to kill herself in absolute shame, only to be stopped by one of her closest ladies. Of course, there is no truth to this as there were no witnesses to this other than my parents and the few, brave servants that dared to come near and they were only outside the door.

Father had knocked and cried at the door, knowing all too well that it was for naught. For the night, he slumped his body against that same door, asking for glass after glass of vodka to drown his sorrows. It was a mistake that he made and one he knew he would regret for the remainder of his life. He does to this day, I know it. He knew then that I was gone from him, his little one. He had to live with the fact that someday, I might be able to see him where he was going or that he would somehow win me back in the divorce battle that was coming. But today, instead of a divorce battle that separates is a war and he has to reach me through the fighting in Europe.

The next day Father packed his things as Mother sulked in the bedroom. He knew that he lost last night's battle and by not leaving, he'll forfeit me forever. Escaping with Nicholas, Alexander and Paul (the three were being thrown of their boarding house, anyhow), he left for Cleveland, where our voucher had a house he could rent while he battled in the divorce case. All was hastily explained in the early morning as Father knocked on the voucher's door with his comrades. Paperwork was signed quickly before dawn.

In this summer sunshine, it was the beginning of the Great War in Europe. By the time Father left and before I turned a year old, Mother had decided that enough was enough. It was only a week after Father confessed and fled her displeasure. Already demons, from her drinking, partying and mental breakdowns, were coming to haunt her. She couldn't take the house anymore. Father was fighting for it already and for custody of me, so she decided to move across town, in another house she found "charming," a place she had only passed on her way to a mutual friends' party. It had a small room in the attic for me and rooms for George, Warner and Kurt and for she herself and some trusted servants. Plus, it had the lowly servants' quarters (which I had snuck into to get food late at night when I didn't have dinner) and many accommodations. She bought it and started the move the night before war was declared in Europe, a mere two months after her fight for mere superiority began.

Maggie had said that I was so quiet that night we transferred to another home and didn't utter the noise I usually vocalized later in life. The neighbors watched from their porches and fire escapes as everything was loading and carried away. Our neighbor that vouched us smoked his pipe as he watched the move from the fire escape. He looked at me and then to Maggie, realizing that I had bruises on my body, something I've been gaining in the past couple of months. I barely had clothes on but only that was necessary in the summertime heat. He continued to smoke the tobacco in his pipe and wondered when I was going to be able to walk on my own two feet and escape this domination and head back to Father. Taking out a camera, a new household object back then, he snapped some pictures of the move. By his side was his second son, at that time only five years old. The child had just stared on and then smiled at his father.


	4. A Turning Point

The next thirteen and a half years passed very quickly. The year 1928 was another magical year in the decade, and like every other girl in an all-Catholic school in the city, I had dreamed of other venues of freedom: flappers, parties and all-night drinking, an illegal activity back then. But it was very hard when I was stuck in the room in the attic and only allowed to go down for school and sometimes, if I am lucky, dinner. Oftentimes, I did manage to drown my sorrows in the books the library offered me and nobody even found me there. If Mother had noticed at all, she could have just confined me to my room and denied me dinner as if I've never had that punishment before. I always it escaped because of Maggie and her connections to the lower quarters.

Oh yes, I had been kept by Mother in these trying years. She had been winning the custody battle for a while. By the time I was fourteen, Father, as I found out later, was finding evidence of abuse in the household, which was true to an extent. Although the servants and my stepbrothers were encouraged to hit me every time I stepped out of line or even randomly, I always found a way to get away. The servants actually took pity on me and only hit me in the presence of Mother, never hard. My stepbrothers, however, had taken every chance they had. Another form of abuse Father named was starving: although I had been denied dinner because I fought bitterly with Mother, it was not as bad as he said it was. I was used to it and although I didn't consider this an abuse to me, he did.

I had one weapon against them: I was raising high in school and because of it, I could hide anywhere I wished to and I did just that. It was also a swift way to leave the home and travel, just as I've dreamed of. Just as Mother was becoming excited over the rise of dictatorships and Mussolini and Hitler as she earlier predicted, I was becoming excited over graduating secondary school at fifteen and becoming a military nurse. I had a love of the military at an early age and at nine years old I was in line to be enlisted. The pageantry and order pleased me in this controlling environment. I was thrilled at helping the army with nursing, which was my second love. When I was a small child, I had wanted to help everything and everyone that was hurt and was sullen when I couldn't. As I grew older, I even treated myself at night when I had a rough day with Mother and sometimes when the servants were ordered, against their will, to hurt me.

At the all-girls' school, I had a mentor, Nurse/Major Nancy Donovan-White, the school's soon-to-be-retiring military nurse and social worker. We developed a bond which grew closer than most and much more heartfelt that she expected. She was thirty-one, married and she had a family who loved her. Her husband and young four children often welcomed me to their home whenever I ran away from Mother.

Nancy became the mother I never had felt before and always asked me questions about my life and where I came from. She grew alarmed and frustrated when nothing could be done in my "abuse case," as the school calls it. "You need to stick up for yourself," Nancy said once. "I know you're stronger than they are, Nikki. One of these days, you'll show them." She was the first to call me Nikki and the name just stuck afterward. It gave me a newer sense of identity and not the foreigner like others think I am.

Nancy was also the first to realize I had a gift in writing and gave me my first journal, which was quickly filled with my poetry. It was used later for the war efforts, each with different and exact with its replies, but sadly, each book had been burned by the Army. I hardly remember the first one I had written because of an accident, but I recall a few lines from it: _Scars are souvenirs you never lose and the past is never far…did you lose yourself somewhere out there? Did you get to be a star?_ I didn't think that these words would prove visionary. All too soon, I understood the true feeling of deep unconscious, writing from one side of the page to the next.

Mrs. White (she didn't become Nancy to me until much later) had also obtained permission from the nuns of the school to have an army recruited drill me and keep me up-to-date with military tactics, rules and disciple. It was something I enjoyed for a while, despite my rebellious behavior at home. It was becoming a reality: escape the house forever, see the world and settle down…with Father? Scratch that thought. I didn't know where he even was then or even if he was dead or alive. Mother did keep her promise of reminding me of him and his "foolish follies." I paid heed to them as it might be used against her later. Not only that, it gave me thoughts. I didn't know what Father would be like to me and I always wondered if he was just as bad as Mother portrayed him as. _And_, I thought as I bared another beating late one night in my bedroom on the top floor, _if he cared enough, I could keep this evidence for him as he rescues me._

_Rescue_…it was such an oxymoron to actuality. I had no relief other than my classes, drills and days in the library. Other than home, school was torture after that. I was a loner. After so many years of dealing with Mother, I developed a feeling hopelessness, where, at any given low point in my life, I would become very depressed. When I was younger, it had seemed like the world was on top of my shoulders. Writing and reading relieved me of this feeling and lighten my load.

To everyone around me in the strict atmosphere of school, I had no advantages and people knew who I was as the daughter of a Socialist Jew. Nobody talked to me and bothered me. They knew that to do so would mean swift discipline from my stepbrothers and the girls knew that word came quickly to my house. They all whispered of a spy among them as rumors flew about one girl being beaten by my stepbrothers for befriending me. They always sought to find her out, but to no avail. I personally had no care for who gave out such information (for that matter, I knew not a girl who tried to play nice with me) and grew accustomed to this loneliness and a dark world nobody could share with me.

Those years went by quickly and the time I waited for graduation was the hardest year ever and the wait was monotonous. August, September, October…finally it was February, only three more months to go before I could run off and never be seen again by my family. It required much skill and patience. To a point, I was going to scream because of the tedious waiting. February, a wintry one indeed, tried my endurance. It seemed like spring was never coming. The middle of that month, I remembered, drew over three feet of snow and it became harder to head to someplace other than home. For three days I was stranded at home and afraid to move out of my cold room in fear of being seen. By the thirteenth of February, the snow had cleared enough for me to walk to school, but that day had promised more snow, cold and wind with its threatening clouds and gusty gales coming off from the icy waters. It was unusual weather for this time of year for we usually get rain in the winter because of how close we were to the waters.

That day passed fast, and by the time the bell rang at 1430 hours I ran out the doors and walked the five blocks to get to the library for books to get me through another day at home if necessary. I spent so much choosing out something (I had read so many books at that point and trying to pick another was hard) that I forgot about the time. After grabbing those books for the next day's storms, I realized that it was 1545 hours and time to get home before Mother does. I then ran the last three blocks to get home. After all, I pictured in my mind as I ran, Mother does keep up with the social fury of the city. In getting home before me, she can have an excuse to release my step-brothers on me while she watches in a drunken death stare either later in the evening or seeing its results in the morning.

I wouldn't know in those harrowing moments going home in the deep snow that the next day changed my life forever. It was to be February 14, 1928.

~00~

Ah, Valentine's Day: the lovers' holiday in which those switch love notes and other trinkets to their crushes and the people they love. I care not for the holiday and passed it as every other day. The storm clouds were gathering outside that morning. I knew without a doubt that this day was going to be horrifyingly cold. If only I could have known what would have conspired that day.

That day, something made me wonder why my neck was bothering me, for today seemed to be a normal day. I knew that it warns me of danger (that much I figured when I was a child, always unaware of its impact on my life), but it was unusual that it bothered me then. It was the same routine as every day, I had thought: I had gotten out of bed before anyone else, snuck out when the lights went on in the kitchen and gotten into school at 0630 hours. Of course, I had met Mrs. White ("Slow down sweetheart, you look like you're in a hurry!") at 0700 hours and lessons with her and the military recruited until 0840 hours, and classes took over my mind, etc., etc. It was, all and all, a regular day for me. When 1430 hours roll by, the bell rang and I zipped out of there before all the gossipmongers could come out and stare at me. I went head-on into the busy intersections, to avoid all other people and the cars, and nearly was hit by an on-coming vehicle. I didn't seem to care as I had eight blocks to walk. I wanted to get home quickly because it was going to snow again.

My neck was prickling more than ever before. _Why_? I wondered. _Why it would be when there was nothing to be afraid of except the zooming automobiles and the sloshing water?_ The last blocks home made me especially jumpy. I knew that there was someone or something behind me so I walked faster. When I walked faster and faster, to get home and skip the library, I felt the prickling in my neck come up to such intensity. I didn't bother to look over my shaking shoulders to see who or what was behind me and I didn't want to know.

About two more blocks to go…I was alone in some deserted section of town, where I usually hopped some fences and stopped to rest before sneaking into the back door of the house. When I stopped however, I dared to look over my shoulder and there was nothing behind me except George, Kurt and Warner.

I became filled with dread and terror.

These next moments went by so quickly that I had no time to think or even fight back and scream for help. Even if I did try, there'd be no one there to help me because there were no people around here to see me. The alleyway was as deserted as a ghost town.

My brothers' next movements indicated something sinister. Kurt and Warner and grabbed me by each side and I dropped my schoolbooks in the snow banks. Both had me slammed against the wall of the nearest building. I couldn't move or cry out even. I knew that it'll be worse if I did. I knew my brothers well.

Warm blood trickled down my neck like rain dripping down the outside of my attic window. I closed my eyes, only hoping that George would help me from this torment. Instead, he threw one hit after another. I should have known better.

More blood and laughing…dragging me down someplace…"No, you can't do this!" I cry out in vain…my books? Yelling…"Jewish bitch!" they scream in my face…more laughing…oh no, not the bloody knuckles…a knife…? My mind was reeling. Everything was a blur and seemed to have come all at once.

"_Nikola…see here, Nikki? Nikki, please pay attention! I know the weather outside is distracting with the snow, but this moving plan for the wounded is worse. How would you, as Head Nurse, fix this mess?" Mrs. White handed me a scenario worksheet and I began to look into their complex words, but it made no sense to me. Why would the greatest minds in the military do such a thing as this? Moving wounded to a cave during a bombing. It was unheard of! What would happen if a bomb hit it? There would be a cave-in for sure!_

Mother Nature was dumping her fury. The struggle against these three men experienced was for naught. _What was the point when I'm just going to die anyway? Who would miss me in this storm? _It isn't as if someone would mourn for my loss. My body would be found and people would say how sorry they were that Nikola Michalovich had been killed and left to die in the cold. She might have been taken there, for all they know, and dumped in such an obvious place so nobody could find her. Oh, what a quiet creature she was! The murderers would be gone and nobody will claim her so she'll be buried in some nameless grave.

Suddenly I heard something. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?" The hitting stopped and I was dropped to the ground. I didn't struggle anymore. I couldn't move. Pain rippled in me. I didn't care if I lived or died. I wanted the pain to go away.

"Oh, damn, Ted, she's hurt!" I heard someone say.

Oh, well, it was just some voices. George, Kurt and Warner would just continue anyway, most people ignored them as they beat me in public like every other time. I always escaped somewhat unharmed, but revenge was always behind me. Somehow, though, I felt that this was different than those other times. After I was dropped I heard those footsteps which indicated that to me that someone…more than one someone…was leaving or coming. Who knew? But my inner feelings told me that I was saved.

The last face I saw before I went out was someone I'd thought I'd never see. He was saying something to me, only it seems light years away. His lips were moving but there was no sound. My tunneled vision and deafening ears blocked my senses from knowing the people who saved me.

That face, later I was to know, was that of Robert E. Hogan.


	5. Home

I awoke to blinding light and I was coughing heavily. The coughing had somehow started before and had wakened me up from a sound sleep. Or, I should say, I was not aware of it until I had woken up to its extremely overbearing exertion. It made me wet at my hands. I believe that I was coughing up blood because it was very sticky and the taste in my mouth was metallic.

In turn, I felt some hands grabbing me. Because I had been so quick in defending and was so used to do so, I had hit the hands of those who had wanted to help me. I was so used to being beaten upon that I had not realized that somebody was trying to help me instead of hurt me more. The hands then tried holding me again, feeling my forehead and washing me everywhere with a hot cloth. I felt like I was loved, taken care of. I stopped my instinctive defensiveness and let myself relax.

I tried looking around and I saw a door. I think it was four faces that had peered in towards the back at the door? I couldn't tell because my vision was so blurred. All I could remember of that moment was just a hushed angry female voice saying, "Go!"

Everything then seemed to disappear afterward.

~00~

The next thing I remember was waking up again, possibly in the same room before. There was a wintry darkness about. The slightly opened curtain on a window to my left revealed some snow falling. It was day (I think) and I was alive. I was alive, well and unable to know where I was exactly.

The room I was in was foreign to me, alien almost because of its childish charm and girlish decorations, much like someplace where a mother could put up for a baby girl. But, even with its comforts, just staying in there, warm and safe, made me shudder suddenly. _What about Mother? What if she finds me in here?_ I knew of her fury when she finds me in comfort and safety. She would do anything to have me in misery and depression. She knew my passion to rise above her and she would do anything to break me of my spirit. What would I do if she found me in here, in a bed?

It was weirder that my neck wasn't prickling. Curiosity piqued at me. I wanted to know where I was and what people had come to save me from the stupidity I faced everyday with my family. I had to do something before Mother did.

When I tried to get up to investigate upon where I was, I felt dizzy and felt a need to vomit. So, as I fell to the pillows behind me, I studied the room I was in to keep my mind from concentrating on being in bed. For sure I knew that I wasn't here before. There were no signs of Mother or any from that house, so I think I am safe from her wrath.

I was bored after this revelation, my thoughts scattering about as the room's details were memorized in my brain. I couldn't move so turned to my side, only to find someone asleep in the chair next to the bed I was in. He was wearing a West Point uniform (I recognized what it was because of my school training from the army recruiter), his dark hair hidden by a cap crooked on his head. I smiled and tried to giggle at the scenario: a hurt girl with an older man (he appeared to be twenty) in the room with him sleeping on the job. And he was supposed to be watching her…_me_.

It was highly amusing until he woke up and smiled at me. I stopped my attempts at giggling and all of a sudden, I lost my tongue. I was embarrassed to have been caught!

"So, sleepyhead, are you tired of scaring us now?" He had a twinkle of laughter in his eyes and looked like the person I saw in the alleyway. Well, at least, I thought so.

My thoughts of this person next to me, and his silly comment, were interrupted by the door to the room opening. In came a short, plump woman who, I could see, has seen too much and trust me, I grew into the same way. It was almost as if I could know her just by looking at her – her movements – and know her sorrow.

The woman's dark brown hair had streaks of grey and her dark brown eyes, joyful and forgiving as I would foresee later, flashed a dark glare at the person next to me. "Robert! I told you to…well, hello Nikola." The woman who popped herself into the room smiled and made her way to the bed. "How are you feeling? You gave us quite a scare!"

I tried, in my stubbornness, to get up again (to prove, once again, that I am stronger than people think I am), but both Robert and the woman put me back down immediately after my fruitless attempts at responding. I collapsed back into the bed again and I was still dizzy, confused as ever. _How did she know who I was?_

"Well, at least we know she's as stubborn as her father…and her mother," the person named Robert said. His eyes even twinkled again, as if it was all for me.

The woman laughed and said to me, "Well…he can see her now, can't he? Oh Nikola…this is so…" She trialed off and abruptly left the room.

I was confused until the person who was watching me, Robert, got up and said, "Your father has wanted to see you for a while now, but since you're awake, Mom seems to think it's time." He shrugged his shoulders and continued. "Maybe he can find out your temper and determination is as foul as your mother's is." His eyes, dark and some place I knew I could get lost in, twinkled at me again, a sure sign to me he was as mischievous as he appears to be.

I smiled in reply, savoring this moment of intimacy with someone I barely knew, before Robert left in a hurry as steps were sounded in some stairwell beyond me, behind the door. He soon left me alone, but when someone popped his head into the room after I heard those steps, I never thought that my life would be so complete and into a full circle for the first time I can remember. It was really my father, blood and flesh, who came in to see me.

~00~

After a week of getting to know Father and staying stiffly in that bed, we left the home of Thomas and Sally Hogan, the people who had vouched our family so long ago. The friendship, not in the least disrupted from the years away, was once again rekindled in the week I was in the bed. It may have been nice for the three (Father and the Hogan parents) to talk once more in person, but it was miserable for me to be stuck alone.

Just lying in that bed made me restless! By the end of my third night in bed, I was walking down the stairs to join the rest of the family for dinner in the dining room. All I had to do, because I have never navigated the huge house before, was follow the voices that came from a faraway room below me. My hearing was perfect and I could hear voices from the other side of the house, if need be. It had saved me from Mother many times.

Sneakily, as I always am, I carefully pulled the covers off of me and (looking decent in my nightclothes) I straightened myself out and stepped quietly out of the room and down those stairs. As I entered the dining room (after walking barefoot – the floor cold – down a narrow hallway at the bottom of the stairs), however, the first thing I saw was a small child who came up to me, hugged my legs and said, "Nik Nik! You're not sick anymore!"

The small child was scolded by his mother Sally, who said as the child let go of my legs and stood before me, "Nikola, just ignore him, he's just…wait, what are you doing out of bed?" Her shock was evident on her face.

I guessed that Sally had remembered my stubborn streak from when I first remembered meeting her. I had laughed at her for the first time in a long time and said in reply to everything, "Well, I thought that I might be more available out of bed, so here I am."

I laughed harder when Robert popped his head into the dining room and said, "Yup…she's still stubborn. She has that saucy tongue, too!" His eyes twinkled at me again, the first time that he said I had a saucy tongue.

This time, I noticed, Robert was in civilian clothing and he noted that I noticed it. Before he could say another witty word and joke (I saw it was on the tip of his tongue), his father Thomas pulled him back by the collar of his shirt, aware that his son was again flirting with yet _another_ girl. He would never know, as everyone else within the household, that this was the girl was to be the heart and soul of his son, as he is with me, sooner than he thought. All Robert was aware of was his angry response at that moment.

Thomas was very angry with me, although I didn't see the reason why he should have been. "Nikola, get back into bed and stay there! You can wait for your dinner upstairs. My wife will bring it to you as always." I then knew that this person, soothed by his wife Sally, had to be heeded. I did obey him, the child who greeted me so joyfully before crying behind me as I climbed back into the shadows of the hallway and stairwell. I heard, as I headed up the stairs, the child's cries become louder as he was whipped by a belt, the wind making my ears wince with pain. Thomas had, indeed, become much bitterer than Mother had in the years following their divorce, as Father explained to me later. And I knew that he was right.

~00~

It was at the end of the week that Father collected me from the Hogans' home and walked me back to where he was to live. I was still obdurate about resting and walking (Sally was convinced that I was going to pass out as soon as I stood up when I was collected). I was surprised that when we ambled out the door, we walked to the abandoned home next door. It was the same place Mother had forbidden me to go to and I knew why all of a sudden. It hit me as soon as I walked there. There, standing at the porch before the now-restored porch swing, were Father's friends and co-patriots of Russia: Nicholas, Paul and Alexander. They were to live with us, in this home that I never remembered living in. When I was told that Father had gained back everything, he truly had.

"Nikola, sweetheart, we're home, together at last." Father embraced me, practically carrying me up the few steps as he introduced me to everyone.

And this began our familial link. "Tell me everything," Father would tell me, and as time went on, I did. He, too, shared a part of himself.

Father shared with me more on his faith, his life and exchanged what life had been in Cleveland, where he used to live. He tried to convert me to Judaism and hard as I tried every day and even on the Sabbath, I strived to be a good Jew despite my mostly dominate Protestant upbringing. When I discovered I couldn't find religion in both of them and questioned everything both religions demanded of me, I left Father as he is and went to the Saturday Sabbaths with him out of respect. I even practiced my Yiddish and Russian with him, mixing it up with my German when I became angry, one of the habits that runs with me today. He, in turn, respected my decision to stay out of both religions and was proud that he even tried to keep his promises made so long ago even though they were never fulfilled. As I grew older, however, I grew more like him in that sense, but was less pious than he was, and in any sense respecting his Heavenly Beloved with G-d, never writing it in full.

At that point, the happiest memory I remembered first was Father and the others who led me inside, chattering and welcoming me to the huge house everyone would eventually find themselves lost in eventually. Before I went in, however, I turned around to see Rob (he asked me to call him that before I left) looking at me from their porch, again in civilian clothing. He smiled and waved at me. I waved back and went inside the country-style door, ducking my head as hands flew past my eyes. I was happy to be in a place I can proudly call _home_.

~00~

As I got to know Father more and realize that he more or less succeeded in the divorce case, the more I thought about where Mother, Maggie and the others went. Where could they have gone? How? When? And why was I to be left for dead as they disappeared? The answer hit me when I saw the divorce and custody papers on the odd table in the basement a week after I came home, where the kitchens used to be. I shocked me, but somehow, I wasn't too surprised about it. Since hearing about everything, via Mother's side, I could not say that it was inappropriate for her _not_ to return to her homeland.

Mother had, apparently, gone to Germany, back to her family, and she refused to pay for my upbringing that Father was demanding when he gained custody of me. She settled in with her lost relations, reconciled with them and was probably starting her life anew for all I knew of her. Father had to raise me alone, but even without the money Mother owed him, I think it was more worth it to have me back than anything else.

I was saddened at the lost years Father and I had and even sniffled a little bit as I read the papers. I didn't even notice that somebody was behind me until I felt someone's arms around me. I wasn't scared about it and knew who it was.

Father was watching me from the shadows of the kitchens and saw me stare at the papers. He hugged me from behind when he saw my sadness from the short distance. He knew that it was the overshadowing mood I had and shuddered to remember Mother's promise. Therefore, he had to oppose it somehow, to make things right again. He put his arms around my neck in the process of his loving gesture and attached a heart-shaped locket around it. His Star of David had been melted years ago to commemorate my birth, he said. It had been for Mother, but Father held on to it after Mother rejected him and me. At that moment, he had decided to wrap it around my neck because he knew that I should rightfully have it.

Father kept it for the time he would see me and he finally did as he watched me reminisce with great grief about the past. As I fingered what was around my neck, I saw that inside the locket is a picture of our family after I was born and an empty slot, which later was filled for a short time before heartbreak caused me to destroy the picture and keep its copy on the bottom of my footlocker.

I realized what Father had done and what precious a thing he had given me as I stared at the marvel of rare gold around my neck. He could not see the tears streaming down my face. I couldn't let him see at the time but let him continue to hold me from behind. It wasn't of the sadness I felt for a few fleeting moments, but of the great happiness he gave me in unifying whatever family ties us three had, even if Mother had destroyed it long ago.


	6. Mistakes

Rob had somehow become a different matter altogether. He was the second out of the five surviving sons (all of their surviving children) of Thomas and Sally Hogan. He had four brothers and a sister for the brief winter in 1911. By the time I met them, Ted was his only older brother, two years his senior at twenty-one, followed by Rob obviously (nineteen), Christopher (eighteen), Jimi (thirteen) and little Jerry (five). The family was close-knitted and very devoted to each other although the occasional argument arises with the brothers, as always. The room I was in had been little Sally's room, the daughter lost a few months after she was born. After her death, her mother changed it to a very feminine guest room and was almost expecting me to just come in there, replacing her long-lost daughter. It almost explained the leftover sense of a girl child and the brooding form of a ghost that seemed to hover in the small corners where a crib used to be.

Thomas, however successful he had been in the business life he led, was often absent from the home, always knowing what went on because of his connections here in Bridgeport. He was the center power of the family and demanded total obedience from everyone, especially me as I came more into the family's lives. He wasn't as such before I was born, but it became apparent that he was sick as his approval for perfection increased and his tempers increased. He didn't particularly take to Rob paying any attention to me. He said that I was going to break his heart – and I admit, I did – but then, it didn't matter to either one of us. We couldn't predict what this would lead us to in this war.

Rob and I both knew we loved each other and figured it out quickly. And oh, yes, I knew that I loved him and he loved me. When graduation came in May 1928, I was surprised to see him in the crowds to see me graduate and off to Nursing School with Mrs. White (she insisted on Nancy at the time). _Nancy_ had quit her job at the school and decided to help me with this work in the next stage of my life. She was the guiding force of my life, even after Father came into my life again, and was constantly there for me when I needed it.

I had thought that classes at West Point held Rob back, but he surprised me every time I saw him. He came to see me more and more when he came home. He grew onto me every time we met in the summertime. It was on those evenings at his house, at the fire escape on the top floor, that I knew he and I were destined for each other, no matter what came our way. I remember our first kiss when I first came home from Nursing School the first year, our entwining careers in the military and our times in the surprisingly created band we created when I was sixteen.

The band was fun, but a pain when traveling from one base to the next and even in between assignments for school and from the military. The U.S. Army acknowledged us as such a band for entertainment and chose where we were to perform although Rob and I had choices of our own. It was named Desertstar, Rob's main nickname for me (the story is simple as to how it came: Rob had merely said once that my eyes shined like a "desert's star" and the name stuck). In these travels, we picked up any players that could play any performance at the time we needed to, and played. Rob banged the drums (he was SO good!). I played the piano and sometimes the guitar and sang the poetry I wrote. Various players hit the swing band. His family, Father and Nicholas, Paul and Alexander always saw us whenever they can.

It was terrific for a while. It was the feeling of freedom and being in love at such a young age and it went too far. I was not innocent and lost my virginity before I was sixteen and, although I did not care much for it, I didn't realize what consequences were to happen from it. I knew what could happen and I didn't care. Maybe it was being young and free for the first time? I didn't know. I couldn't know that it wasn't such the case when, three years later, I found out that I was pregnant. I was in Nursing School the time I found out, after a stressful two months wishing it wasn't true.

As soon as I could be allowed to, I ran home (it was at the end of the term, anyhow, and was given a medical leave, passing my exams before I left, a miracle). I didn't talk to Rob for days, reaching home and running in the opposite direction as soon as I saw the family, shocked to see me home so early. Their bafflement at my appearance and my lack of courage only encouraged me to be rash. I only could recall spending three days with Nancy's family, even running away from Father, before braving myself for home and breaking the news to Rob, who, in turn, was just as shocked as I was. He admitted that we needed to tell our families.

I was in deep distress. I was nineteen years old, only nineteen and very stupid. How we broke the news to our families, I don't remember, but they all urged us to get married quickly before any scandal broke out and we were both shamed. Both Rob and I couldn't do it, because the institution of marriage did not appeal to us greatly. In turn, we pretended and let everyone in town think we were married. Everyone in town believed us and we even traveled, for real, to San Francisco for a week before coming back as a way of saying that we went on some honeymoon. Afterward, we even wore the wedding rings prepared for us to prove our pledged love, only to exchange them back for a better time. I slid Rob's ring next to my locket, the same that Father gave to me, and I always looked at the inscription in it when I felt alone and was without my companion. _Love is forever entwined to us._ It was from a poem I wrote some years back and the phrase made its way to us and our vows.

Sally, Thomas, Nicholas, Paul, Alexander and Father knew better, of course. They knew what we did and allowed us to make our mistakes although Thomas was quietly angry about it (his rants about it later haunted us both). Father has never said a word to me about this, _ever_, and that is what frightens me the most: disapproval and not hearing him yell at me. Not even Sally bothered us about our pretended marriage.

They all didn't mind that I signed hospital papers and such as _Nicole Hogan_ nor did they ever ask me about how I was to live and work in my career with a baby to support. I had asked for a temporary leave from Nursing School and it was granted, but there were no plans for it after our child was born. I wasn't thinking too clearly and wasn't planning for the future at all. I lived in my stress and fretted all the time.

At the end, it didn't matter, for this all ended in heartbreak and forbidden words never spoken. It was on October 6, 1932, little Michael Robert Hogan was born. A week later he was dead in my arms, blue in the face as I rocked his choking force into silence at the hospital. He was a sick child from the start and nobody expected him to live long, but I hoped. And in the end, my prayers and hopes were dashed. I knew that it was my fault, but I didn't bother to say anything. We all just went through the funeral silently, Rob and I holding onto each other in silence, and cried the tears of a child.

~00~

_You are the shell around  
I cannot escape and I swallow my pride  
Entwined together now  
It's time to pass it over  
Entwined together now  
And you take me over, over again…_

I was still singing that song I wrote when I was nineteen. At twenty-five, I was full of pain and hurt from my heartbreak and a separate passion that I dared myself to never partake in ever again. It was 1938: the years, especially the past six years, had rolled on and had taken a toll on everyone around me. A storm cloud rolled over us and was not moving. I was afraid that it would never move away and keep with us forever. The years had been hard and so much has happened over the course of time after our child's death.

Rob and I, always competing with each other, had been promoted to Lieutenant Colonel by the time early 1939 rolled by. We celebrated that day together, like all the days we had simultaneously have gotten promoted and graduated, through enlisted ranks to officers, by heading out to drink and smoke a few cigarettes. I was offered command of a bunch of nurses in England by the time I was promoted to colonel, but I declined as I've done to every other one. I wasn't ready to travel overseas, but at the same time, I knew that I have to do my duty. Rob was in the Air Force, after years of training, so he can be called any day. He loved the freedom of flying in the air. I was always scared for him, always chiding him when he came back home and gathered his family together to tell about his adventures. He worked with the R.A.F. for a while and was planning on doing so when the war, which we all knew was to gather soon, came on our doorstep.

Father had moved back to Russia a few years beforehand, and this time I was on the road singing of loneliness and shadows following us forever: it was 1935 and because he thought that I was old enough to be on my own, he left, the reasons fully known to me. The night I found out he moved away was the night I had hired a bunch of other singers to help me with a song, so disheartening yet so inspiring.

_Lay down, lay down, lay it all down  
Let your white birds smile up  
At the ones who stand and frown  
Lay down, lay down, lay it all down  
Let your white birds smile up  
At the ones who stand and frown_

_We were so close, there was no room  
We bled inside each other's wounded  
We all had caught the same disease  
And we all sang the songs of peace_

My things were sent to Thomas and Sally while I was on the road and a note explained why he had moved and why he chose them to watch me. Father didn't even say a formal goodbye to me and I didn't expect it like the others did. I was the one who understood and I was the only one who would ever. I had spent enough time with him to know that farewells were never his thing. He didn't like face-to-face confrontations and his despair turned to the bottle of vodka instead of Scripture.

Father missed Socialism and being in the shadow of a republic ruined him as they turned their back on him and accused him and his friends of being a spy. Rob and I were not pleased in the very least, but it was his wishes to leave the country than to stand trial and answer to everyone that his life was spent in loyalty to all and that turned into betrayal. He was accused of being a Soviet Union spy, for Jozef Stalin, and it cost him when false evidence started to mount.

Father sent me a note as well, obviously going through many stations before reaching me, explaining why and when. He left me a blessing and words of wisdom for the future. He gave all the reason that his last sibling was dying and he and his brothers wished to see him, taking care of his family heritage, but I knew better. In turn, he, Nicholas, Paul and Alexander just packed and left. He felt safer just knowing I was in capable hands and not being harassed and ruined. The last lines of his note made my eyes tear. _Darling Nikola, you are with the world on your shoulders. I have done the best that I could for you, but all know how futile most of these efforts are. I leave you in essential care, the same care when you came back into my hands these years before. May you be blessed and part with me on a good note, knowing all-too-well of my leaving. I will miss you, child, and will always remember you._

When I received the note Rob was looking over my shoulder after he packed up his drum set. He must have read the note beforehand or over my shoulder for he said, "We'll manage, Desertstar. You know we always did." He tossed my longish auburn hair about with his hands and continued. "After all, somebody has to watch that temper of yours. Miss Saucy Tongue, you need to be controlled." On a serious tone, a few seconds later, he stated, "Your father was not able to handle such accusations. You know we couldn't save him. His excuses to leave may have been a lie, but it was enough to get him to leave."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Rob," I said about his jokes, ignoring his comment about Father not being able to control the circumstances in which he thought and lived by. I then blushed with this last insolent reply and left for the dressing rooms where I wished to change and pack. I wanted to go home back to Bridgeport as soon as possible. But never again, I vowed, will I enter that home Father made with me. Those times were gone. It was high time for me to learn how to live, regret and move on.

Rob was still laughing behind me as the other players came to him and asked what was next on our tour. Rob replied that we have no more dates and asked that they be relieved and to receive their money from the paymaster at the entrance of the concert hall, who also held the sales for our tickets. They left us, alone backstage, and didn't see my tears come down my face or Rob's reassuring arms around me once more.

Afterward, Rob and I talked and he agreed with me to go home. We packed our other belongings and silently thought of the future, clearly empty and changed. We decided that we were to go back home after that change, just like that. Our family was waiting for us.

~00~

The kids (those younger than us, I mean) have grown up and even Ted had grown into difficult proportions. Jerry was fifteen by the time the war was starting and he was already heading for the military like Rob. Jimi had married a girl named Jeanette and joined the Navy after his daughters, Jeanie, Nina and Helga, were born. Christopher went through school and became an engineer, later becoming engaged and never bothering to bring his beloved back to the house in fear of Thomas and his wayward methods of interrogations and humiliation. Ted had, long ago, eloped with a Japanese-American girl named Rose and moved to Arizona, much to Thomas' anger and to Sally's despair of a family separation.

Meanwhile, Rob and I hung low. Because we had lost Michael, we never tried to have any more children or try to get married in the least because it would have been an insult to the memory of our lost child. Our relationship had not changed but started to become one of understanding. I knew that Rob saw other women and flirted with them, but he came back without meaning any harm to me. I have not felt anything even when he confessed to me his faults and cuddled with me in his bedroom, almost as if he were asking for forgiveness (Rob was more for pleasing Thomas, who always criticized him). We loved each other more than ever and through every mistake we've made, we grew stronger. We decided during that time that our careers came first, our relationship second always. Someday, when we're old and grey, we'll marry for real.

Nancy had gotten me through Nursing School (with great relief to her) and was shipped to England, to M*A*S*H unit 6147, instead of me, because of her experience. Of course, she volunteered herself in my stead as the Head was angry with the lack of command and discipline in the unit. Being a colonel, they asked me first, but Nancy stuck her head out for me, knowing what it'll mean for her family. Being a major helped her and it was perfect, for the time being.

Nancy had also wanted to explore some of the world and experience the war first-hand when it came. To her, this was an adventure her family might see before they leave her to her work in England. I knew that her family might be settling permanently in England, so that they could stick together, but truthfully, I felt bad that I selfishly took Nancy for granted and had taken her away from her family too many times. It was going to be their time together, at last.

Even though I outrank her now, Nancy still has her words with me and always sage advice. Before she boarded the ship to England with her family waving behind her on the boat to everyone on the shores, Nancy hugged me and said, "You will begin to see the beauty of the world around you when you see that you have two feet and can walk on the path in front of you." Then she left. I cried for she was the mother-figure I never had. So, off she went, into this unknown thing to us called war.

Thomas Hogan had, meanwhile, died the year that the army called off the band Desertstar because of the importance of our army status: September 1, 1939, when Hitler ordered that Nazi Germany invade Poland. That same week, Thomas had a heart attack in the yard while arguing with Rob about our relationship and how infantile we were not to marry. When Rob started to deny these accusations, Thomas collapsed and died as everyone in the household watched in horror, his angry expression still on his face as he buckled and slipped away just as quickly as their argument started.

There was nothing anybody could do. I could not even revive this dominant figure. If I close my eyes now, I can still picture that day in the backyard: Thomas yelled at Rob, who had been cutting down some dead tree branches for the winter innocently, that "you put a boy on her, and now he's dead. What are you going to do now you insolent fool?" Rob, I knew, tried to hold back his temper, but when he started going off at Thomas in defense of me and our relationship, the two went into a screaming match and after few minutes, the strain caused Thomas to crumple, dead.

Rob never forgave himself.

Suddenly, the war in Europe was in full swing by the end of September 1939…1940, the Bombing of England and Dunkirk's disgrace came into reality to everyone and the casualties mounted. 1941…the bombing of Pearl Harbor in Hawaii in December brought the coldness of war to our doorstep. The storm I have felt for three years came drizzling on our windows. But it was right after the Christmas of 1941 that we were all called to duty. It was on January 4, 1942 that Jerry, Jimi, Rob and I were called to service in England and eventually, whatever and wherever the war brings us to as we were assigned to units and given our assignments. We were to be shipped out the next day in New York City, on the ship _The Atlantis_, as hopeful civilians, especially Sally, stood in tears at the pier.

The storm came, full-force at last. It lashed out at us, beckoning us to come forward.


	7. London, 1942

London in 1942 was still showing the effects of the German bombings of the previous war years. It was still a war zone, no doubt about it. Destroyed buildings were everywhere and no matter what night it was or what the weather was like, black curtains blocked out all light. Sirens at night indicated a bombing raid or a practice run, by German or friendly fighters. Helmets were handed to everyone who refused to leave their homes. Winston Churchill was constantly reassuring the nation on the radio, stating that we have to pull forward together and defeat this enemy. King George and Queen Elizabeth were common sites in the city, reassuring citizens and being within the center of action.

The four of us military personal split up after reaching the port city of Southampton. Jerry and Rob were assigned to bombing squadrons (Jerry the 316th as a bomber, Rob the 504th as commander and bomber), Jimi to the neighboring ship _The Sister _and me to an M*A*S*H unit, the 6147th where Nancy had been commanding nurses and had been stationed before the war started in England until I arrived to take over command of the nurses. I kissed Rob goodbye, knowing that I'd see him later, and headed on the next train to London, the center of all of the war activity.

My reunion with my beloved mentor took away all the tears I had shed for Rob and his brothers. Upon seeing the exhaustion Nancy wore on her face, I was joyous despite seeing her strain. The unit, stationed in London, was where I found her as I ran the blocks to the unit after the train arrived. Good G-d, Nancy was alive and tired from the work it gave her. I ran to her arms merrily and without ceremony, as was decreed.

"My, this is how the trainer gets shoved into the pit. Damn the U.S. army!" Nancy exclaimed. I laughed with her as I hugged her for dear life. It seemed like I could not let go of her.

All I could reply, through our laughter, was "The mentor becomes the mentored, more like!" Our laughter in this reunion was stopped as soon as the bell rang for service within the space of a few seconds. Even I knew what it meant. I answered its call each and every time, appreciating the small moments of life.

Later, I learned how our small talks always relieve the tension when the bell sounds. When it does, we run to O.R. to help the wounded coming from the continent that had been cast aside. Not in that sense, but that they can wait and that the quick job can be done before they are shipped here for a more long-term recovery and service. The more seriously wounded had been situated on the continent, wherever the medics would patch them up and then send them here for better treatment. For those here, this is the final step before being sent back to the continent for combat or back home…the lucky chums who do get sent back to the safety of civilian life. Some are so shell-shocked when they are shipped home that they cannot recognize where they are, but are aware that there are people around them. For all they know, we are the enemy. Some carry their imaginary guns around the hospital day and night, disrupting the rugged sleep of others, and search for the Nazis, Italians and/or the Japanese (rare is the time we have other who were in Asia). Others stare into space and cannot fix upon the reality that they are in: safety and away from horror.

At least Rob visited me when the both of us were off-duty or at a bar down a few blocks where we're both stationed. He also takes me around the R.A.F. Headquarters, where he's stationed, and I see some of the people he works with (there was some insane Group Captain there named Crittendon, who drives me and everyone else insane because of his stupid plans and actions that endanger the people at the unit). I do hear snatches of conversation from there, some of which I am worried about, such as this: Rob's squadron has been rumored to be used for the Underground bombings of Germany. I was becoming scared that this war will make victims of us all, especially for Rob, Jimi and Jerry.

Well, Jerry has been excited to leave Sally's protective shell and has been jabbering about his adventures as soon as he went into the military the first moment he had. Jimi has been calm and collective, always worrying about his wife and daughters. He keeps reassuring himself and us that he'll be safe in the oceans. And he is, in a way.

I knew that Rob was flying missions for the R.A.F. frequently. He sneaks off to Paris, sometimes for days at a time. When I'm off-duty I search for him, only to find insane colonels of the R.A.F. but no Rob: "Some secret mission to Paris," they'd all joke. "The jolly broke can't keep his hands off the ladies. Are you one of his?"

Other times when Rob _is_ around, there'll be times when he'll just sometimes come by when he's not doing anything. He is usually way too tired for words, his fingers in a grip that resembled a person in defense, frozen motions upon the trigger of his plane's guns. He'll surprise me sometimes and come to my quarters and we spend the night together. He knows my tension and pain when someone passes away or fearing for those who are too shell-shocked to realize they're in safe hands. He also knew that our time together is coming to an end and that he is leaving me sooner than I thought. Each night is so precious to me and each one replays in my memory as beautiful, carefree and joyous. Those times reassure me of the troubles I had and those ahead of me.

And so it goes.

~00~

Springtime had finally come, changing the rainy and cold days of damp England to warm and sunny ones. Trees blossomed and bloomed leaves and the flowers popped up, giving a warm aroma to those who passed them by without thought. It felt like an insult to me, life coming up after so much death already. I had seen too much of it to appreciate the renewing season of spring. _The flowers can die for all I care_, I thought as I ran to answer the siren for yet another grueling day at the O.R.

I was becoming stressed at this time, too. Father's letters, which I had received with such frequency as the war started (he had returned to the Soviet Army as a high ranking official for Stalin and was assigned to its Air Force and Front Line activities), had stopped coming about this time. There was no word from the Soviet Army as to why or even anything that would point out where he was last or where he could be. I had asked for information and had received nothing. Rob even tried searching through the Head as I tearfully told him of this news, but there was no information there as well. There wasn't even a death notice, so it gave me hope that Father was living still.

But there was no stopping my worries. I cried to think where Father might be: wounded, alone and without a soul to help him in his new assignments as head of the airline divisions or maybe even dead without a proper burial. The Soviet Union will not tell me anything, _his_ daughter, and kept quiet.

Worse things had me reeling. One day in the middle of May, I looked at the reassignment list in London's R.A.F. base as I was waiting for Rob to come out and felt horror grip me and clenched my stomach. Rob was leaving for Southampton with his unit the next day and surely off for assignments in Germany. I knew that he was going to see me before he went, that much I anticipated almost as an aide came out and stated that Colonel Hogan was not going to come out with me that day. Rob was busy, preparing for the move the next dawn, and I was the last on his list to visit.

Rob's last visit to me, later that night in my quarters, had made me bitter, especially of my selfishness. It was about a few hours before dawn, maybe around two in the morning, and his flight into France and Germany was to begin as the first light struck the planes and their pilots were donned in their suits. I was fearful. I knew the routine well, but it didn't quell my feelings.

Rob snuck into my quarters that night and passed by security that was posted outside and around the unit as German threats became more frequent. I was done with my shift for the time being and was too tired to talk, but it was urgent, he said. He knocked on my door, and I let him in as he stated his vague business, knowing all-too-well that he was going to do it anyway. He looked so grave and serious.

Then I was told the news. Rob's unit was moving out soon, on some "missions", apologizing that he was unable to keep our date from earlier in the day too. Then I knew the rumors to be truth and the reassignment list truer than my fears: the Underground has grabbed the unit and Rob consented to be part of the danger I had hoped he'd avoid it. Besides, everyone knew that to be on a "mission" meant that the great Allied Underground wanted you or that you accepted being part of the spying ring. Spying equals a firing squad when caught by the Germans (Krauts, as Rob calls them). I knew how vicious this army was to the Allies, so I was obviously dug so deep in the pit of selfishness that I was furious with Rob, silently wishing him to come back home with me, if we could get out of here, and make a life together. Alas, it is not to be because we are military personal with our careers coming first. G-d, it was as if Rob never cared that we had a life after the war, an image of tranquility and peace!

Secondly, Rob hugged me close and told me that he'll love me forever, no matter what happened to him. He'll always think of me, even when he was in the air, finishing his missions. He already hit his twenty-five missions and was supposed to go home, but I knew he was overdoing his step of duty. He had done over fifty and I knew it. He just kept on going. But, Rob even said that he didn't want me to follow him into danger and to stay here. That just confirmed it my suspicions further. I was startled by my anger and even his wish for me to stay here.

I broke free of the embrace. "What danger, Rob? What does the Allied Underground want you to do _this_ damned time?"

Rob was horrified by this response and put his hand to my mouth, as if to cover my stupid mouth, and said, "Nikki, _Desertstar_, we have to follow –"

I interrupted him as I always did, breaking free from his grip (and almost biting his hand for that matter) and saying, "Those damned careless voices! The same voices that I have! I know damned good and well what! What dangers? I can't follow you, and why?"

Rob was hurt by my sudden outbursts. He knew that I had a nasty temper, but this was the icing on the cake. My temper was rising to dangerous levels (like it usually does) and so was his, after his initial shock, by the time he heard that. I knew that he loved the freedom of flight, but he was in Death's Lane. Why give up freedom in the face of Death? Why even go on over twenty-five missions and keep going until you exhaust your energies? _Why_ anything?

Rob equaled my voice. "Desertstar, I couldn't live with myself if you tried to follow me and had gotten killed by the Krauts. What is the Gestapo caught you and…?" He didn't finish his thought and turned away. His anger had quickly turned back to despair like lightning. His voice couldn't be heard anymore after his possible consequence of me following him.

I could tell that Rob was turning to despondency in this possibly realistic situation. In turn, my fury then turned to pity and extreme sorrow. I was ready to cry for my cruel words and pay the price for it, which was sure to come and to be very high. "Rob, please, I couldn't…I wouldn't do that…" Now, I was pleading and crying with him as he started for the door. I tried to hold him once more, accept that he was going on these missions, but he turned and left with me on my knees and begging. I was sobbing. There was no goodbye, no words or anything, just tears and despair for my cruelty.

I was really alone, at long last. And it's my fault.

I couldn't feel anymore. I was numb to everything around me. Rob is gone, Rob is gone, _he's gone_…why, why, why, _why_?


	8. Without Luck

After Rob left, everything fell apart into pieces. My life seemed to have shredded thread by thread. More and more wounded came from the continent and there was too much time thinking, _Rob might be here…Rob might be dead…Rob might be missing_. I checked every list of wounded, missing and dead that came my way and came up empty. I never received a word from him or any notices from Sally, who wrote to me by the pages about how much she missed me. Oh, of course letters came from Jerry and Jimi, all censured and blacken, but nothing from Rob. Jerry is still excited about the adventure this was bringing him, but to me, he could be a corpse. I feel the same way about Jimi except he pacifies me with his letters of reassurances and promises. I became more worried about Rob day after day because of this obsession. Even Nancy noticed how frazzled I was.

Even in the O.R. I was more of a wreck and almost could not function enough to command the nurses. I was purple with fatigue under my eyes with my apprehension and fear ate in my body freely. Working with Death never lifted my low spirits. I sometimes even made careless mistakes and it often resulted in me being confined to my quarters on orders of the doctors who knew of my state. They only thought that time would heal me. It did not, as they said it would. My worry was to be my downfall.

June came suddenly and summer was in full swing. It was hot and humid. Worse, it was unsanitary at the hospital. Conditions there worsened and the Head, as everyone else, knew that it was time to break up the 6147th. We had a short-staffed medical team because of the constant Death toll in medical personal, constant shortages of supplies and more and more wounded that died than lived. The war was sucking us dry and, although the other medical units suffered as we did, it was a matter of time before they decided to choose which unit to close. We all made out, from the rumor mill, that it was this one. It dawned upon me slowly, but surely I saw the rumors to be true. All I needed to do was wait for my new assignment and it came all of a sudden in the middle of June while I was on duty. I was seeing the last living patient we have going home to the U.S. when Nancy came up to me from behind and asked that we speak in my quarters privately.

"Of course we could, Nancy. What's wrong?" By her crucial face I knew that that it was something she wanted to say was imperative to me. I led her to my quarters, ignoring the orderly's shouts that I was still on duty. _Oh, damn them. This is more important than some shift that going to help nobody._

After heading to my quarters and closing the door behind her, Nancy pointed to my desk chair, where piles of reports have been stacked and readied for me to approve and sign. She said, "Sit, Nikki, you'll regret it if you didn't." When I froze in my place by the comment, Nancy quickly replied to this. "Sweetheart, _please_ sit down." Then I knew that something, a feeling from deep within my heart, is very, very wrong. Nancy never calls me sweetheart without a reason. Then I had a horrid thought. _I haven't checked the last missing, wounded and dead list yet! What if Rob is dead? What if…?_ But that piece in my heart wasn't broken. _He can't be dead!_

I seated myself in the desk chair, and, sighing and holding down panic, Nancy said horrible news, sentence by sentence. "Nikki, Colonel Hogan has been shot down and captured by the Germans. He is now a prisoner of war. The R.A.F. just confirmed this yesterday and sent a message to his family. Previously, they sent them a note indicating that he was missing in action. He had been missing for over a week before they had word from him and sent him a message." She paused, letting it sink in before continuing.

I couldn't cry because this was bad news, but it was good in a way. I felt pain pound in my heart though. Rob might have felt pain coming down, becoming that prisoner of war. _And they all didn't bother to tell me, either. I'm not family, but some crazy woman who is obsessed with him._

Nancy then continued slowly as if I didn't understand what was going on. "The Germans have him in their custody. He is safe at Luftstalog 13, a prison camp for those in the Air Force. They are also in search of medical officers and medics, from what I've heard too. All of them are prisoners, though: interrogated and searched."

_Robbie, no, how could you? How did you get there? What did the Gestapo do to you that you feared they'd do to me?_

"Nikki, he's _fine_. He contacted us. He's not hurt, but we're…" Nancy drifted and shifted her eyes to the floor. Then she looked up and talked again, her hands behind her back. "You can talk to him again, but it _cannot_, and I repeat, _cannot_, be in the way that we're talking now. Or the way you talk to him in privacy. It's important that you know that."

Even in this comfort, I still couldn't cry. Rob was _safe_, but how can he contact us from a prison camp in the middle of Germany? The only way of communication was through holey and blackened letters, letters that I couldn't read because of their lack of emotion. I was baffled and asked as I stood up, "Nancy, what are you saying? Do you have orders from…?"

Nancy nodded her head and held up some papers from her back pocket. It was our orders, folded perfectly and without a wrinkle in them. It was as if the next assignments were just as perfect. Nancy had the same feeling, a sense of adventure when she said, "Our transfer to the spying ring has begun. Come, Desertstar, the Germans await us."

~00~

That was my step closer to Stalag 13. How I landed here as some medical officer remains a mystery to me still. But it is not only that. This was also the beginning of my espionage activities for the Underground and beginning of the legend of my name, something if the Gestapo found out about, they'd shot us. And if they found this I could be shot as well and this can be the proof that they need. This, for some odd reason, has given me the strength to write onward.

On the contrary, it was just a simple order from General Alburtis. He was in charge of all espionage activities and offensives on the European continent. In his orders, off I went to help defeat the Germans by destroying their war effort through the obtaining of their secret plans. Before leaving the 6147th, I was packing whatever I needed to survive in my next assignment and reflecting upon my selfishness. Maybe people were needed for a common cause, after all. It is the danger that they have to watch out for. A sense of adventure and excitement, I think not! It's more manipulation and knowing what you want and just asking in a different way without the other knowing what it really is you want. I had so much practice in this while I was in Desertstar with Rob. There were so many men who wanted to flirt with me and I hated it. I hate manipulating people even if it was for something I need to do for my country. I'll do it, but reluctantly.

After Nancy and I were briefed upon our assignments and were trained on what we were to use in case of such situations in London's main Headquarters, we were assigned to Paris. It was a long way from London and most certainly deep in German territory since it was part of the Vichy. I was, commissioned by the Krauts (false paperwork from Headquarters and they knew my deep hatred for the Germans now, and made sure I would work with them with spite) to be singing at a nightclub, owned by another agent named Duncan McLean, called _Nite Lites_. The nightclub held parties for the German generals visiting Paris. The nightclub itself had an array of music, dancing and fun for everyone. Duncan had a swing band hired, and, with Nancy as my manager, I sang and gained the confidence of many a German general through my skills. Through their trust in me, I had the chance to obtain information through capsules I give them without their detection and drinks that loosen their tongue. I passed it all on, no matter how small the information was.

During the day, when the club was closed, boarded, locked and dark, Nancy and I give information to Royal Navy 371, London or Camp 13 in Germany, depending on what needs to be done and what has to be destroyed. Camp 13 (or, I should say, Stalag 13) was the same that Rob was in. I never spoke to him regularly, but the person in charge of the radios at Camp 13.

"Papa Bear" was Rob's codename. He sometimes talked to me and asked that I relay messages to whomever. I know he recognized me for it was my nickname I used, but he never indicated that he knew it was me or tried to talk to me in any personal way. I had to fool everyone else, though, and make sure that, just in case anyone at the camp was to be interrogated, that they could say, for certain, that I was not the person on the other side. In that case, I had used a different voice each time I talked into the radio. Sometimes I was male, sometimes female but each time, different to throw off the Gestapo. To me, that was not important but that Rob was alive and well. And by contacting him this way, he'll know that somehow I'm alive and well too, although unwillingly doing dirty work on stage and in bed.

Our radio at _Nite Lites_ was interesting. All I had to do, to relay the information via our radio, was to tap the middle floorboard three times and it revealed our subversive radio station. I had to be careful when I was performing lest I step it that board multiple times. But when the club was closed however, the curtains were usually drawn onstage and passersby couldn't see inside. "This is creative, first-class thinking, Duncan!" Nancy had exclaimed when she saw how we were to pass on the information. Duncan smiled: a shady smile for such a mysterious and quiet character.

It was very chilling when General Alburtis explained to me Nancy that Duncan "has been switching sides and has been known to transmit Allied information to the Gestapo." My neck doesn't bother me in _that_ aspect (the accusations, I mean) and hasn't since the war started. I had no worries. Anyhow, Duncan was sweet, but it doesn't mean that I didn't suspect him, with or without my neck. He was, after all, always making sure Nancy and I were not around when he was in the radio room and constantly looking over his shoulder as we left him. Nancy thought it was strange, I think it's something else…always _then _with some prickle in my neck every time I thought about it.

_Nite Lites _was also full of recording devices and bugs. I insinuate this very much, but they were _everywhere_. They verified secret plans from the Top Kraut Brass if I wasn't believed. But what was so funny was that Duncan had creative ways to hide the bugs. Flowers, plates, and even dinner jackets were not safe. The dinner jacket incident was amusing. Duncan had me bump into this one general so that the bug can fall into his pocket, without his knowing, but I had to bump into him _a certain way_ so that it can drop it. Trust me, it took practice (and it was amusing practicing with Duncan)! Then, after this certain general paid the bill, Duncan would have spilled soup on his jacket and washed it, taking the bug with him as the jacket is cleaned off!

Sometimes, and I feel ashamed to say this, I had some generals do some favors with me and it makes me flush red every time I think that I cheated on Rob. The other things I do for my country make me feel just as equally guilty. So, as the Generals slept, I always grabbed every paper I needed, photographed it and placed it back wherever it was. Most of the Generals missed me because they were sleeping off their drinks or whatever I put in their glasses. Once I was almost caught. The General, who had been difficult and stubborn in the beginning (hesitating to leave his paperwork in the same room as I am and worrying that he was tricking his wife), had been sleepwalking. Anyhow, each tidbit went off to Camp 13 (only if it was within their area), Royal Navy 371 or London.

In the meantime, I daydreamed about the other side and how others fared as we sent the information. I always wondered, in those six months in Paris, how Camp 13 received and sent out their information. My question was answered one day when Nancy finished transmitting the last day's information to Royal Navy 371. Duncan and Nancy were discussing Stalag 13 and the silly antics that were performed there and how the prisoners how away with everything. Duncan then mentioned that the camp has some sappy, idiotic guards and kommandant, Gestapo constantly afoot and fooled around with and some woods to hide the exit to the tunnels, a tree stump. I was amazed and thought that Rob was so lucky and indeed was he fortunate. That must be some tricky little operation he has. And, in thinking back, it was perfect for his cunning mind.

The months passed quickly. Our next, and oddly last, assignment was less than perfect, though. By late 1942, the time in which my tenure in Paris was drawing to a close, Rob was lucky enough that he didn't know exactly about what the Germans planned next. Plans were foiled as I slept with a general and saw the contents of some paperwork for one General Hozellenan, a scientist, per say. My prey, a fellow general that worked with this General Hozellenan, was fast asleep and breathing heavily. _Good_, I thought as I walked out of the bedroom, photographed it with Duncan in the dressing room and went back, tucking the papers carefully back into the briefcase, locking it.

Immediately, working orders were issued by London as the tidbits were passed along. As I transmitted these plans, I thought about extraordinary it was. The Germans wanted to destroy many Allied cities, such as London, Washington, D.C., Stalingrad, etc. Rockets were programmed to hit their destinations and cannot be stopped. Rob and his crew were ordered to blow up the fuel and supplies for it, without a word about what it was for. Nancy, Duncan and I were actually assigned to destroy the rockets themselves. About twenty others from the Underground – "Henry VIII and his wives and children" (also known as H8WC, for the Underground names were becoming more pathetic and humorous as time went on) – are joining us in this endeavor. We had six months to destroy it but preferably, London wanted it done before the launch date in June. The time was to do it is when the security was low, which was when production was at its height and pride was fixed high. We had no time to waste.

Agents came and went during the day and night at _Nite Lites_ and constantly briefed us on security, changing of the guards and the codes and dates. There was so much to memorize! The Gestapo in Paris was suspicious as usual because of the unusual amount of people in and out of the nightclub. We always fooled them every time with our construction projects and threats to the Gestapo (with my favorite generals in presence, too) that we'll close soon because they bothered us so. After that, they always left us alone and the "construction" continued.

On December 3, 1942 Duncan, Nancy and I left Paris. _Nite Lites_ was so popular and falling apart already from the constant crowds (the agents coming in made the cover-up perfect with their construction company, but it ruined the club) so Duncan rightfully closed it for later repairs. He claimed that the money was too tight and that he couldn't pay for remainder of the time it was to be fixed. Nancy had posted a sign at the door that I was "coming back soon." It was strange that many generals, as I've heard, just scuffed at the idea of it closing and left for greener pastures instead of heading back to the Front. Thank G-d, away from me. I was so tired of them!

Stranger was the night before we left. I was packing in my dressing room (the club was closed for the night and for the remainder of our mission) when I heard the floorboards move from the stage. I peered into the stage from my room, which was next to the stage, and saw Duncan enter. I heard the radio being turned on and some codes being said. I didn't recognize them. _Were they new ones for our side or for the other?_ I knew that we were done telling the Underground that tomorrow night was the night to blow up the rockets. _Why was he going under there?_ The thought bothered me. I felt fear prickle up in my neck and then it disappeared. I shivered although there was no cold draft in the building.

The next day, just as dawn was brightening the skies, we left just before the morning Gestapo patrols, but were ready with our paperwork. The three of us were in seemingly high hopes that the mission will be a success. After all, every detail was paid attention to and no rock was left unturned. We all had luck in the past with our usual prey and had believed that the mission was going to be perfect. Nothing bothered me after the night before and nothing seemed out of place. But luck was not on our side that cold night…


	9. A Mission Gone Wrong

It was a long journey. We traveled through train to Langres, France, taking over a day to reach our meeting spot. From there, we were picked up by car, in the woods, by some of the members of H8WC who traveled as Gestapo agents. Duncan had some trouble with the code and had needed some help even though the agent knew what he was talking about. The mediator thought we were real Gestapo agents in disguise. When I interjected and tried to get the ball rolling, he then opened the door and verified who he was.

The agent herded us to Germany, at the border in the town of Aachen, to meet the others who did not make the journey to meet us. The meet and greet went well, but my fright increased with each step closer. After we left Langres and especially when we were at the German borders, I felt a prickling feeling in the back of my neck again. It never left after we left. I had felt terror and had many fears about the mission.

It was worse as the mission progressed. About six miles away from Hammelburg (it was all forest pretty much so I didn't even bother to notice which town we were in) we met up with the rest of the agents. There were about twenty of us (including myself, Nancy and Duncan) and five and a half miles to walk from our meeting place before reaching the hill in front of the rocket base. While ten of the party disable the numerous guards (as they are suppose to be assigned to replace them) others checked for the fuel explosion from Rob's side and were to wait for capture of the remaining German guards and disable the rockets' control panel. Nancy, Duncan and I wire the place up and into the skies it goes – in pieces! The location point where we were to wait for the explosion of the rockets' fuel and for our signal from the other agents was a hill dubbed in code: #36AP9ZG6I4OU, that half mile point from the rocket base. It was a great place to sit, wait and then charge to destroy.

At about 2315 hours on some unknown day (it was more than a day later), we arrived at the assigned point and ten agents went down to the base, as according to the plan. Rob and his crew had already blown up the fuel (I saw it from the hill and might I say, it was a terrific show) so the agents' job to disable the guards was suppose to be quick. When it was they signaled safety, the rest of us crossed to wire the place. It was a long wait, but by 2345 hours, the signal never came and silence prevailed. The only noises I heard were birds chirping and the occasional owl hooting. It was an eerie feeling.

_Where were the agents?_ Everyone on the hill had the same thought in their mind, but there was no answer.

Nancy had no patience. I knew her well for looking ahead to things, so I saw that she had looked over some bushes and down into the base. What she saw, I would never know then, but whatever it was, she was visibly shaken about it. Nancy really, for the first time since I've known her, went white in the face. She was very pale, saying the worst word ever: "Bail!" It was our word to signify an escape and hit the hills before the damned Krauts grab us. So in hearing this, H8WC's remaining company took off in different directions, scampering quietly among the forest. But I knew it was too late to turn back to Paris and _Nite Lites_. My neck's pain enveloped me.

Gunfire, seeming to come from nowhere, abruptly erupted everywhere we ran.

Everything went so quickly. Before I knew it, Nancy had then grabbed my arm and we ran past falling bodies and dodged the bullets that threatened the agents. We still didn't know where the bullets were coming from. Obviously, the Krauts found us out and were shooting us. _Was that what happened to the agents below, a silent Death? Were they killed as soon as they reached the base? Did we have a traitor in our group?_ There was no time to ponder these thoughts.

Duncan was right behind me as I saw him run after us after Nancy grabbed me. But as we ran, something or someone grabbed my pant leg and wouldn't let their grip set me free. I knew who it could be, for there was only one person behind me. It was Duncan. He had been shot in the neck and back and was still bleeding from those wounds. He tried to say something to me as I stopped to help him. I heard him say, as I tried to calm him down, "It was my…doing, Desertstar, my own –" A close shot to the back of the head exploded in his mouth as he spoke. He was dead in an instant.

I think I screamed but I couldn't hear anything. I felt myself open my mouth to do it. The shock was too great.

Nancy had just tugged me to go on as I sat there in the ground and I obeyed her instantly. If only we could stop running…running, running, running, running…as we fled, I felt a sharp pain in my right shoulder and something warm dripping down my disguise. I couldn't stop to think but then realized that I had been shot. I was then dragging Nancy back instead of her pulling me forward. In her determination, she kept hauling me along until I gradually hit the ground, crawling on the ground with pain. Before I knew it, I had been shot a second time. My right side had been hit. I couldn't move anymore and waved Nancy on. She had to get out of here alive!

"Nancy, leave me, it's over. Go, leave me!" I yelled at her. I didn't want her to stay on my account, most certainly. I wanted to die, then and there.

"Nikki, I'll never leave without you. You know this!" Nancy held me and tried to stop the flowing blood. I had lost so much already and it was getting worse.

As Nancy tended to me, I saw that a German soldier was coming up to us. His face was young, but so familiar, like I had seen it before. The boy was grinning at his catch – two Allied spies – and nodded at me. He almost looked glad to see us. The poor child, he undid the safety to his gun and aimed it at Nancy's head. I screamed and gathered my strength to lung at him, but I felt something hit the back of my head. There was nothing afterward for me but darkness.

~00~

When I became conscience of my surroundings, I had planted my first images of the infirmary, forever stuck in my brain. There was screaming, crying and the ever-lingering smell of human flesh and ash. I dared myself to open my eyes and looked around to investigate this inhumane scene. I saw that Death was everywhere around me. Its silent form stood over many other inmates of the dingy ward. The silent taker of life touched each one, caressing the body and lifting the soul. There was no escape from it.

It was the crying, however, that startled me. What I heard came from my left. Nancy was crying, her hands covering of somewhat pale and ash-coated face. Her tears' trail let two white lines down her face. Then I saw her horrendous conditions: her head was not only shaven, but her disguise was gone and in its place was a prisoner's uniform, complete with strips, black and white. A green triangle was on her shoulder. My disguise was still on me, although my uniform – the same as hers – hung on the chair Nancy was sitting on, for sure.

And then I remembered what had happened and the pain came upon me. My shoulder, side and left arm and head buzzed and throbbed. The last thing I remember was being hit and shot, but why is my arm…? I looked down weakly and then saw why: my serial number, LC8547960, was tattooed in a bright blue. That was why it hurt like hell. I theorized that Nancy's arm was probably holding the tell-tale tattoo of horror too: MJ3578063. _What is this, a joke from the Third Reich? _I thought to myself.

I tried sitting up, but I fell back on the bed. Nancy stopped her crying and held me down in the bed, tears washing my face and the dirt on her: a waterfall indeed. She tried to cover me up with a thin blanket at the foot of the bed. I never realized it was cold until then and I was lunging for the blanket as soon as it came up to me. Nancy let it go, and this was when I saw her up-close. I knew that she hasn't seen food in a long time. Her face was very thin and gaunt-looking, haunted and scared even. I wanted to get the information as to where we were. Obviously, this isn't a prison camp, it couldn't be!

I gathered some strength and willpower. It took a while for me to try to speak, but I finally croaked something out in frustration. I tried again and again with words (how I never used them in a while!) and finally managed to murmur as Nancy watched me and strained to listen. The only words I could say to Nancy were "Where…are we?"

Nancy widened her tear-stained red eyes and shook her head at me. She hesitated, not knowing what to say. But somehow, she told me after trying to talk again. "Nikki…" She suppressed a sob that was caught in her throat. "Nikki…we're at Auschwitz."

~00~

It had explained it all: the dingy walls, people screaming in pain, the constant smell of humans and ashes. Nancy and I were at a death camp, something that was scuffed as unreal in London, another rumor that the Nazis send along the way. It is all reality. This must be a mistake and it's almost like a nightmare. No, London had told us that these rumors, these death camps, were just as real as killing innocent Belgian children in the last world war. It was propaganda. We can't be here, we just _can't_ be…

At the time I woke up, I was in the camp's rag-tag hospital. Nancy, I thank G-d, was not shot or hurt, but bitter and haunted about where we are, hence her tears and qualms about the situation we were in. She always visited me at night, tired and ready to drop to sleep, and she told me she had special permission to see me. I always urged her to go to bed, wherever that was, but she always shook her head in horror. I stuck to urging her, but Nancy always refused. Then I realized that she was horrified by this place and would not talk about it.

My questions were never answered, too. It took Nancy some effort, but she told me about this place. It was on one of these nights that she told me, a few days after I woke up I think, about how we came here instead of a prison camp. She didn't panic and cry, like she did before, but remained calm. She was the same mentor I had known before the war and most certainly in times of trouble.

"Nikki, it was so bizarre how we came here," Nancy began quietly as the other inmates went to sleep and the doctors gone. "After you were shot, the German soldiers led us from the hill. I begged to carry you with us. I knew that I couldn't forgive myself if I did leave you and indeed, there are others who would never forgive me. They consented, for the boy motioned that he wanted me to take you along or you'd get shot again. That time it was to make that you were dead.

"So…I carried you to the next destination, wherever that was going to be. I don't know, maybe the Germans think we have some value and information and are trying to break us in by this inhumane trial. They gave me no help on our walk and two days later we reached a train station, empty of a booth and, as far as I can see, having nothing but bare land and railroad tracks with its train. Other poor souls were boarding a cattle car and I was motioned to move along with them.

"I was baffled to see about fifty other people being herded into the one cattle car in the front. Again, I was told to get into the car with you, this time at gunpoint. I turned and asked in French, since I don't know any German, 'What is this? Where are we going?' The child with the gun, who captured us and made me walk with you, just grinned at me. Suddenly, he shot his gun. I don't know if someone was hit or something, all I heard was agonized screaming. Someone else then pushed me forward and I almost fell inside the cattle car with you, but I had to regain balance."

I sighed, remembering trying to teach Nancy German, but stopped because she couldn't grasp it. I let her continue, nonetheless. "At least, I think the child understood me, I don't know. I tell you, he looks like one of you brothers. I don't know is he might be related, but…at least he was rewarded for his captures, for he was given to some cheering and pats on the back. It was a job well done for him. I don't feel any resentment against him."

Nancy sighed. "Of course when we got here, I persuaded that you could work in the factories with me and the person in charge of this camp agreed with me. That was where the guards told me to go to, under watch. That was the person to go to when you need help, in the cases of Life and Death.

"Of course, I nursed you here, I insisted on it. Every night after that factory work I was worried about you. It was fortunate that some of our belongings were left untouched." I noticed that her wedding band and dogtags were still together, but from her pocket came my locket, the one that Father had given me, with Rob's ring next to it. My dogtags came next. "Nikki, I knew that I had to save these." I couldn't thank her enough for –

Suddenly, some bell sounded, harsh and loud. Guards yelled, "Achtung! Achtung! Those to the factory leave!" Nancy looked frantic and kissed my forehead quickly.

"I'll be back later, Nikki," she exclaimed and ran out the door to the factories. So, Nancy worked in the factories. But does it guarantee safety from being killed by the Germans? What does she do? Is she fed, clothed and sheltered, at least for a little while? What does she do? Why did she choose to do this sort of work? What about the other people here? Do they have this choice too? There are so many questions and so few answers to obtain. Even the thoughts I had, in imagining this place, cannot satisfy these curiosities.

I was still afraid for Nancy. As the hours past, my mind grew accustomed to these fearful thoughts. _How could we get out of there alive and back to London, or better, home?_ My thoughts would then trail to where I was and what I was allowed to do: not much really. I was allowed semi-clean water and was finally sitting up. My headache from the blow to my head was gone and the stinging from the tattoo had also vanished, but never the throbbing in my right side and shoulder. My fear never left, either. I wanted that reassurance from Nancy, become sure that she was secure too.

~00~

Sure enough, she came back every evening. One night when she visited me, Nancy brought some food, more water and silence, something I didn't want since that long story she told me some time before. I was determined, somehow, to find out some more knowledge on how we got here and what she does here. "So, Nancy," I began after eating and listening to the sounds of the camp, most of which scared me, "how was our journey?"

Nancy, who had been staring out into space elsewhere and was watching the door, was obviously startled by my question and sighed in frustration. She turned to look at the open doorway again, which let cold air and noise in. I was still unwavering in my question and pressed the issue further, begging for some answer, anything! Nancy finally glared back at me and said, "We survived…being processed and saved from being…in the chambers. The children and mothers in the cars…" Nancy finally cried again and lost her control. I put a comforting hand on her knee and tried to soothe her. I knew she had something more to say. She did and stopped suddenly to look at me, saying the most chilling words I could ever hear: "I saw your father."

Suddenly, this world seemed so cold and distant.


	10. Hope for Survival

By the end of December I think, I was well enough to leave. I was still sore and the bullets are still inside me, but at least I could walk and take care of myself. I knew that with time, I would feel the bullets and the slow process of lead poisoning. Besides that, I was thin because of the lack of food. And that, with time, will surely kill me as well.

A threat came to me through Nancy that another day would kill me. The gas chambers had room for me. Mengele, the doctor who has done experiments, has been seeing me about. Often, we converse in German. He is amazed with my German ("Spoken like a native," he said with that eerie grin of his that always made my neck bristle) as I am with his bizarre experiments (London had information on him, but there wasn't anything about what he was doing originally). He still sends shivers down my back. He nicknamed me "Red" because of my hair and has often told me to shave it because of the ticks, rats and fleas here. I found out that he was right most of the time. The Shadow, the giver of Life and Death here that Nancy petitioned to, doesn't keep a neat camp.

I think it was almost Christmas or New Year's Eve when I left (I wouldn't know because there was no time limit or anything that indicated months, days and moments). As I went out the doorway, Mengele spoke to me for the last time. This time, he was frank with what he said. "Red, don't come back."

All I could do, to return that kind-looking stare, was to turn back and stare down my adversary, someone I knew who would save the children from the gas chambers but still torture them in his own sick way. Shaking my head when he met my glare, I ran out of there for the last time. I wanted to find Nancy, and more important to me, Father. _Is he alright? Was there any way to escape this madness?_

On my way of Mengele's madhouse, I ran into a guard instead.

He was convinced that I stole something, food most likely. Rifle and my life in his hands, he barked in German, "Strip or die, knave!" I hesitated because of the cold and wind, but when he flipped off the safety latch, I obeyed immediately. He didn't find anything of value, for a heart-shaped locket, dogtags and ring mean nothing to him. The faded gold of the locket didn't appeal to him and I knew that it wouldn't be worth it to give it to the workers to strip. The dogtags just told who I was and what does that mean to him? It was nothing, of course, just that I belong to the U.S. army. At least, of course, I had the proper uniform on and my green triangle in place. It mattered a lot here.

The guard did find it funny that I was turning blue from the cold. He laughed at me, and said, "You speak German, little American spy?" I nodded my head, but I was less concerned about the cold and more about the fact that he knew I was an American spy. Word gets around quickly there at the camp, I'm guessing.

Taking my bundle of clothes, he shoved them in my arms and swiveled me towards a building…a store? Was it the barracks? I had no clue, but he was indicating that I go there. "Go shave…!" he said, his nickname for me, not so endearing and too horrific to write even in the privacy of these quarters. He shoved me in the mud and laughed as I ran naked to the building, still shivering and scared that behind me, he'd shoot true and pierce my heart.

~00~

I came out of that building colder and lighter in the head. My hair was really gone. I couldn't believe that everything else was shaved off as well. I didn't care too much about it at the moment, though. Panic set into me immediately after I came out. By the time I left it was almost night-time and surely a time that prisoners couldn't be out. I wanted Nancy and she was, luckily, out looking for me in this cold weather. She grabbed me as soon as I went around the building. She was dirty with dust and still not saying anything. She just led down some blocks and we went through the door of Block 11, the block where everyone knew that the Germans could use as an experimental building again, just like they used to. This block was also right next to the Black Wall. Fortunately, there were no shootings that night.

Nancy led me down a long, long row of barracks until we reached the back of the building. She climbed up some wooden bunks to reach hers and extended her arm to help me up for I couldn't climb it myself. All I could do was follow her up with her helping hand and curl next to her…it was _so_ cold. We lay that way for a long time, only listening to crying, Death and for the bell that would begin my days at the factory. Four other practically-naked women, half-dead with fatigue and fear, shared our top bunk. That first night I was in Block 11, one of the women in our top bunk died. I could almost _feel_ her soul fly past me, almost mournfully, as if jealous that we were not past our pain yet.

Morning came finally. At dawn, much like I heard every other day I was in the hospital wing, the bell rang. I rolled over in disgust of this obnoxious noise, almost dropping to the ground four, five, maybe six bunks down. I couldn't tell. Nancy grabbed me in time and said in a zombie-like voice, the opposite of her quick actions, "Was that the bell? Are they calling us yet?" I couldn't answer her for I was in a perpetual fear that stabbed my heart and soul.

~00~

I think about four or five months had passed before I was told that, through the rumor mill that usually follows a prison camp, Nancy and I are to be transferred, with other Allied soldiers, to real P.O.W. camps in Germany. Instead we are filling in quotas as medical officers to a stalag, as Nancy told me. It all depended upon everything, but we never knew what we had to do to merit such a reward.

It felt so long ago that she said those words. I only had to be careful that I didn't mention or indicate that I was a non-practicing Jew or even part of the Allied Underground or I could stay in the hellhole forever. I knew, as did everyone else, that anyone even with a drop of blood of Jewish heritage would be treated worse than the others. Those soldiers captured here, especially the Soviet soldiers, keep what their heritage is to themselves and only identify themselves by the number tattooed to their arms, categorized with their triangles otherwise (mostly, I saw green and black ones). There are no names or even ranks, superiority and male versus female. Nobody is an individual here. We are all just a number.

The months were one of survival and constant worry. Nancy was there for me as I was for her in her fear-filled trances. My wounds never healed properly. It hurt every day I up got, hurt when I worked for the German war effort at the factory and hurt when I stood in long roll calls morning and night and when someone next to the block was being shot at the Black Wall. It was an unbearable dreamland, a nightmare I couldn't get out of. The only things that kept me alive was Nancy's unconditional care and love, Father being somewhere around here alive and the dream that I might see Rob again.

It seemed like every morning is just another part of the last day because there is no sense of time or space, just that there is terror around you. And at almost every atrocious morning after the first, I fall down my bunk in midst of my dreams of freedom. The flight down always felt as if I was really free like in my dreams, like I never existed in this place. I knew what Rob felt when he was in the air! Always, always, I felt the swift air soar past me, cold cooling air through my ears, until I hit the ground and rub my knees once again, fully awake and aware of where I am. The nightmare that follows my sweet dreams still goes on, even in the wait for the transport.

One morning, about a month (I think) after the rumors brought some hopeful news that I was being transferred out of here, I snuck out of my block. By then, Nancy and I had been moved out of Block 11 and into Block 5, so it was closer to the fence. Often, I took off on walks and avoided the guards before they took it into their heads that the grounds needed to be checked. On that particular morning, I felt drawn to the fence, the one that divided the women's and men's sections. It was before dawn and the guards usually looked in another direction this time, unaware of a thin shadow that crept through the barren ground. I went along the fence, where so many people have met their end because of the electrical wires. It was before my torturous factory work and roll call. I needed the time to be alone and think about what has happened this past year or so and stay away from the barracks. Crowded places make me miss Father more because it was the warmth of the house we shared. If only I could see him again! I would give up everything else.

The barbed fence that divided the men's and women's side held a lone figure that looked as if he was waiting for his dismal daily ration of food. I narrowed my eyes for a clearer view of the poor soul. It was Father! I walked as quickly as I could and reached carefully to touch his thin arm through the wires. He touched me back and a voice broke the moment of hope: "Achtung, achtung! What are you doing –?" I felt insulted by this name they gave us and again, I do not bother to write it because of its humiliation.

We both said nothing. I knew what would happen if I tried anything, especially talking back and throwing my temper about. It was a habit that I had to break here. I had _forgotten_ the last time I felt anger and a rage.

I looked to Father, who I knew wanted to stop me from doing this reckless behavior. Instead I saw that he had tears running down his face. He knew that he could do nothing for me. All he said to me, as the guards came running towards us, was "Remember the power of the light child…see you at the transport." Then he disappeared as the guards on the other side shoved him and yelled in German that he was to spend the rest of today in solitary confinement. The guards on my side, however, were displeased with me but I received a much lighter punishment. No portion of food for me today. Plus, I had to spend the night at the factory, on hard labor. Of course, it was better than being killed or being at the Black Wall. I didn't care. I had seen Father and he was _alive_. The next night after roll call, however, was the night I knew we were moving to a transport and then to a stalag, I believed. The extra night at the factory was going to be _hard_ indeed.

~00~

The next night finally came. Nancy, myself and other female soldiers leaving, a lot of them detained nurses like us, have gotten clothes and whatever was left of our belongings and packed in the fury of joy in departing. I stayed in my disguise from the mission, still dirty, ripped and bloody and only stored under my shirt my dogtags, locket and ring. I would not miss that place. I didn't think that anyone would.

The last act of being here was horrid. Next to the guards doing roll call were men from the other camps, people coming with us. Father was among them because he is a Soviet soldier. He appeared sickly, his striped uniform hanging on him like a scarecrow. Then, my thoughts suddenly turned to that morning upon seeing him. It was highly unlucky that we were called names the day before. What if the Shadow here actually heard the guards and believed it? _What if Father and I couldn't reach the transport because they figured us out as Jews? We wouldn't be able to survive here afterward. The gas chambers have plenty of room for us._

Translating for Nancy (she still doesn't understand German despite being taught, again, at our meager lunch breaks at the factory), the head guard explained who was to go and stay. "All army personal are to be transported to prison camps this night! Those with the serial numbers shall leave. All _Juden_ and liars will be shot! Numbers…will go now to the blocks and back here! Move, on the double!" The head guard called out a series of army serial numbers and then the other guards released the dogs to get us moving. Nancy and I were called with eight other female Allied personal. Us and ten male personal were going. It's all that matters. We're all going together from this nightmare with Father included.

Nancy and I ran back to Block 5, for the last time, and grabbed our things. Envious faces looked at us when we got back from the blocks. Afterward, we boarded the cattle car that was outside the gate of the female part of the camp (_Work shall make you free_, it was said in my mind once more) and waited in suspension, not knowing what was going to happen next.

Father was in the same cattle car Nancy and I were in. The three of us stayed together and never spoke a word. Father was very sick and did not collapse from his illness until we were out of sight of the guards. He couldn't speak of what had happened, either in the days he was in Auschwitz or from yesterday's punishment. I knew it took a great effort for him to stand in line for the Nazi at Auschwitz. It made him worse to even try to run to the cattle cars and not be shot or viciously bitten by those dogs.

Father even was so quiet that I thought he had died. I wouldn't let him go. Not even if he died I wouldn't let him go, they can't pry him away from me! Yet, he still hung on to life, I could make that out. But he could have died, oh, he could have!

About four days into the journey, the train had reached a deserted town. I think it was Halle, a long way from Poland. Father was transported to Stalag 10's nearby hospital, hopefully to stay there and recuperate. He was taken from our cattle car as I slept. Nancy knew that I wouldn't permit him to go if I was awake. She did assure me that he was safe as I awoke colder and without Father next to me. "We can contact him later," Nancy said briskly, overstating the obvious. "Or, somehow if he escapes, we can commerce with him." I hoped and prayed that Nancy was right this time. I did wish that he will escape soon.

Our journey to a prison camp took longer. I think in two days we stopped in Hammelburg, Germany. I had no idea, for there were no windows that indicated day and night. However, we were the last ones to stop. No others were on board with us except those who died on the journey out and who were stiff corpses. They were going to be thrown into a mass grave at our last stop. I counted three deceased and all of them were females. The other five were dumped to Stalags 4, 9 and 16, respectively. I was sure that we were going to follow them, but the guards held us back. Obviously, Nancy and I had some value.

Upon arriving at our last destination, Nancy and I were immediately herded into a car with the Gestapo troops that were waiting for someone – us. We had an army of them guarding us as we weakly walked to the car that they indicated we go into. We were heading to Stalag 13 for interrogation by the Gestapo for being Underground agents and spies, as we were charged. Alive, we stay at a prison camp full of men and fill in their quota of women. Execution is a strong direction for us. We were to be as dead as those three women who died in the cattle cars, being buried in nameless graves as they are.

According to the guards around us, it was May 4, 1943: a day I will remember forever.


	11. Stalag 13

Nancy and I met the Hangman of the Stalags, one that would hunt down Allied spies and kill them as he went. He was _Herr Major_ Hochstetter, the grand nightmare for us in the coming hours, and for me, the next days and perhaps months to come. Our first meeting with him was chilling, to say the least, as the guards opened the car door and pushed us both inside, almost toppling over the overly-neat man within. My body went bitterly rigid as Major Hochstetter smiled at us as my neck prickled at his presence. I knew that we were in deeper trouble than we thought and Rob's fears were coming to reality.

The door slammed after we climbed in and the driver in the front started the engine. He then headed to the forests ahead and away from the train tracks, both plentiful in this part of Germany, I presumed. Luckily for the driver, there was a closed window between the three of us and him. Then our fearful attentions fell to the Major as he cleared his throat.

"So," he began, "let's get down to business." He signified that we notice that he clutched a handgun that he wasn't afraid of using on us. Nancy and I watched nervously as he gazed at the window and then back at us. His face changed from calm to anger in seconds. He then screamed, "What were you doing at the rocket base with the Underground?"

That voice could make _anyone_ cringe. Nancy and I tried to look bewildered, something we were practiced in as we walked the Headquarters in London for the first time. It was also hard to tell what we were expressing behind all that ash and dirt on our faces anyway. To appear confused was better. To try to hide our green triangles on our uniforms – surely, this Gestapo agent would know who we were – was better. We were considered criminals to the Third Reich.

I was the first to speak. It was a wonder why I didn't have to translate for Nancy, for Major Hochstetter spoke perfect English with a slight accent. I started in Russian to baffle him (and perhaps throw him off of our tails), "Herr Major, we have no idea –"

"SILENCE, SPY!" he screamed. Hochstetter's voice seemed to echo into the woods. I wondered if the driver was oblivious to this or was just used to his yelling when Major Hochstetter grabbed me by the collar of my neck (I was seated next to him in the middle) and said, "I know who you are and what you two were doing. But the Gestapo has ways to prove it." As he let me go, I gasped for air. Nancy was visibly trembling. I wish I could comfort her and take away her greatest fear of never seeing her husband and children again. Obviously, this person was not to be taken lightly.

Hochstetter continued anyway, still screaming. "I will find out that you both are involved in this! I will find more survivors in H8WC and they will be shot!" He calmed down at last and glared at us again and then looked out his window. As soon as he gazed back at us, he smiled. It was a sudden change from his anger just the previous moments ago. His next question haunted us. "How was your time in Poland? You know, the Gestapo has more ways of getting out…information from people like you."

Nancy quickly turned away. I saw her silent tears come down again. Like so many times before, they created a white stream down her face, washing her face as its many directions aimlessly ambled downward.

I couldn't answer the Major's question either because of the sheer horror of it. Instead, I turned to the window and looked out over Nancy's shoulder. I've noticed that foul weather has been following us for some time, since we've left the train station really. The clouds swirled around the skies and it looked like it was going to rain. Ahead of us, as I looked forward, there was a door to a prison camp opening up. Headlights flashed everywhere because of the dreary weather around. The driver went through the gate and parked the car in front of an office within the camp and opened the door for us. As soon as the door opened for us, I heard thunder sounding off in the distance.

~00~

More guards surrounded us. "So, this is Stalag 13," I said in Russian. Hochstetter shot me a dirty look as he came out of the car and he motioned for the Luftwaffe guards to lead us into the office ahead as the car door opened and out we went. But the lookouts had different ideas. The ones at the door said that their kommandant, someone named Klink, cannot be disturbed from his sleep and that we cannot enter. It was 0700 hours already and probably too early for us visitors anyway (I would have thought that the camp would be up and going by 0400). During this confusion I turned to Nancy and saw that she was looking down and immobile, all in fear. I was more curious than her about this place that has wooden barracks. The barracks looked more like huts instead of the cold, rat-infested buildings Auschwitz had. They looked sturdier and probably held more heat and no rats, ticks and fleas. There was about twenty of them and already many prisoners were popping their heads out of the doors, looking at this commotion. I even heard some cat calls and whistles. _Somebody has not seen women in a long time…_

As I looked around I saw that behind me there was a tall figure that was very familiar to me. He was leaning against the Barracks 2 wall outside and had a crew of four other enlisted personal around him. He still wore his bomber's jacket and his hat with his colonel's eagle perched on top. His dark hair was still hidden under his hat, but whatever hair was sticking out was flapping in the breeze from the coming storm. The sides of his head held some white hair. It was Rob.

That sudden desire, upon seeing this figure, to fling myself into his arms and a want to scream "Rob!" had to be extinguished because it was better not to familiarize ourselves with each other and risk our necks with Major Hochstetter around. I met his eyes instead. He met my glare back with surprise, alarm and anger, all in that order. He quickly went inside his barracks, pushing everyone aside. The four men followed him, each with their own perplexed and concerned looks. I knew they were dedicated to him.

Major Hochstetter finally straightened everything out, or so it appeared. The Kommandant named Klink will be hosting us in his office with Major Hochstetter in attendance on the special occasion of our interrogation. Hochstetter even had the courtesy to call over an enormous guard, the one that said that we couldn't disturb the Kommandant. "Schultz, you will be taking these new prisoners over to the Kommandant's office and to wherever I say when we are done. Move before our beloved Colonel Hogan sees them and declares them in part of the Geneva Convention." _"Beloved Colonel Hogan"? Rob has a reputation here already?_

The huge and bumbling guard, Schultz, mobilized us to the front office. It took a while for me to get Nancy to move or even look _up_, but I finally got her to move towards the office before our Hangman forced her to with inhumane actions, already threatened on the ride to Stalag 13, but never afraid to do. _Strange,_ I thought. _Nancy usually isn't like this. Nancy is always stronger than this._

I was interrupted by the huge guard. "Come on, come on now. You move, move, move, every-BOD-Y inside!" Schultz opened the door to the front office. At the desk of the office was a middle-aged woman in some maid's outfit cleaning. I almost laughed and hit Nancy in the arm with my elbow to look. She almost laughed too, had she not remembered the situation we were in. At least I had seen a smile off her face before drastic events happened.

The nameplate on the next door read "Wilhelm Klink, Kommandant." I wondered what kind of kommandant will lie beyond those doors. Is he the same one that doesn't realize that the prisoners have an operation under his nose? Is he really as idiotic as Duncan said he was? Or was he stronger and more competent than we thought? Or even, does he have any backbone against someone like me? Was he as ruthless as our Hochstetter is?

"So, the game begins," Major Hochstetter said behind us as Nancy and I were herded into the office's opening door.

~00~

Ah, interrogation by the Gestapo: nothing can be more relaxing than getting hit constantly and screaming at over and over again when no wanted answers are said (_Name, rank and serial number…name, rank and serial number…_). Nancy and I still sat in silence as Major Hochstetter questioned us about Paris, _Nite Lites_, Duncan and other things concerning our activities as spies. He knew everything already but needed our words to condemn or free us. I was sure that, either way, he was going to get us – one of us or both – that day or sometime in the future.

In the meantime, Klink proved himself to be more of idiot than I had been told about, sitting quietly at his desk and playing with his thumbs. He tried, fool as he is, to interfere and interrupt the Major, with dire results. Schultz stood faithfully outside to lead us to wherever Nancy and I were to go: execution, barracks, Auschwitz…who knows?

Interrogation began at 0715 when the office door opened. By 0745 hours Hochstetter was blue in the face from yelling and his hands red from beating us (I had comically noticed that Major Hochstetter had a vein in his neck that popped up when he was the angriest). Nancy and I remained silently still, for anything we said could be used against us. Silence remained with our confused and blank faces. It was the best bet, the best way to get out alive.

After those thirty minutes in the office, Klink tired to interfere again, but for the worse, I feared. "Major Hochstetter, get out of _my_ camp! I will not tolerate you having to interrogate female prisoners in this fashion –"

Hochstetter is a fast one, for he charged Klink as he sank in his chair. Confronting Klink, Hochstetter said through clenched teeth, "And the Gestapo does as they please, especially to interrogate female prisoners and camp kommandants!"

Obviously, this showed that Klink was only not a fool, but a coward. _Can I pity him?_ I looked at Klink as Hochstetter yelled at him some more. I really felt some compassion to the innocent fool. Sure enough, the pity will pass and I can play with the Kommandant all I wanted to. _If_ I came out of the interrogation alive.

My thoughts were soon interrupted. Just as suddenly as Hochstetter attacked Klink, without warning, Hochstetter charged at us, first throwing Nancy to the wall, rocking the picture at Adolf Hitler, speaking profoundly to the German people, back and forth. Hochstetter then slammed me silly on the floor. I was seeing stars as heard something creek open. All through the stars that were flashing in my eyes, I saw that Rob had knocked. He came in. "Colonel Klink, you have some new prisoners –"

Hochstetter turned to face Klink. "Klink, what is this man doing here?" he yelled. As Hochstetter tried to create more confusion for Klink to figure out, I got up from the floor, but found that I was too dizzy to stand. Being wounded did not help matters, nor did that feeling in my neck, which now came back to warn me. I didn't know what it was trying to tell me, but I was sure that there was danger afoot. I knew I couldn't ignore it.

From the floor I saw that Klink was still sinking lower in his chair as Hochstetter was back to continue to yell at him about Gestapo policies. Rob, meanwhile, was hiding his fear back and biting his lip, which he does when he's very nervous. He plainly stated, just like his sentence before, only interjecting Hochstetter in his pushing around of Klink, "I am senior P.O.W. officer here. I reserve the rights of all prisoners that come here. According to the Geneva Convention, I have –"

Klink, recovering some courage after Hochstetter decided to let him off the hook, said, "Hhhhhoooogggggaaaaannnnn, OUT!" the same time that Hochstetter turned away from Kink and said, "Shut up, Hogan!"

Nancy crawled back to her chair throughout this exchange. Rob saw this and walked over and helped her up to her chair. Then, Rob looked at me stoically. He didn't want to bring attention to himself by familiarizing himself with me so he stood over me innocently enough. He kneeled in front of me and picked me up, placing me back in my chair like a child. I felt humbled, indeed, and remembered the last night we were together. _Nice…and now, his greatest fear is a reality. Well, it's close enough._

Suddenly, just as Rob set me down in the chair, the storm that followed us broke outside. Pouring rain, strong winds and violent thunder and lightning raged, causing the windows in Klink's office to rattle. Luckily for us, the windows stayed strong and put.

Sitting straight as soon as I was set down, I decided to seal my Fate and state again who I am, and nothing more. I locked my eyes into Hochstetter's, who was swiveling around after looking out the window at the storm. I prepared to say my only words to him today. Nancy saw this and sat in attention, always ready to follow her senior officer, even if I was only seventeen years her junior.

I found my voice. I followed the Geneva Convention's protocol of prisoners of war by saying what all should say when captured. "Nikola Anna Michalovich, Lieutenant Colonel, LC8547960." I was shaking as I said the next words. I pulled up my uniform's right sleeve and showed my tattoo. My next statement wasn't part of anything, but nonetheless I had to show Klink that this government has the power to kill and not help a dying nation. Yes, kill those who deem them undesirable or their enemy, as he probably has no clue in hell about it. "I am an U.S. Army Nurse and former prisoner of Auschwitz."

Hochstetter was obviously shocked and angry. He came over to me, slapping me harder than he had ever done before. I made contact with the floor. Rob also jumped back and gasped in surprise and pain. Was it because Hochstetter charged me again or where I've been the last few months? I would never know, nor will he answer.

Another voice came and this time, it was Nancy. For the first time in so many days, hours, minutes, seconds, she spoke. I was amazed, so amazed that she found her strength and spoke.

In plain, unemotional and stoic English, she said, "Nancy Sarah Donovan-White, Major, MJ3578063." She then paused, as if hesitating or pondering on the next thought. Her next words signed her death warrant and satisfied Hochstetter, to a point. Her dirty face was indomitable and her hands were not shaking anymore. She lifted her uniform sleeve and showed her tattoo. And without faltering, stuttering or speaking in broken sentences, she spoke chilling words: "I was a former prisoner at Auschwitz and…" She stopped and let Hochstetter and Klink (who was recovering from the shocks from earlier and most recently, the storm) hang in suspense before saying, "…a ringleader in H8WC and a top member of the Allied Underground."

Everything suddenly erupted again. Before I would say a word to Nancy, Rob grabbed me quickly from the floor by my arm, forcing me to walk. In dragging me, he led me out the door as Schultz, the guard, opened it. I found my feet again, Schultz escorting us back to the barracks after he graciously opened the door to the rage outside. The question remained, though: what about Nancy?

I tried to speak to her before she was led away and break from Rob's already strong grip on my arm, but Rob wouldn't let me go. Even in the storm, he wouldn't let me go. No, I simply could _not_ go to my exile at Stalag 13 until I spoke to Nancy one last time before she died. I knew what Hochstetter was going to do to her because she had confessed what he wanted to hear and was stupid enough to say it. I didn't know why – other to save me – but it was _not_ what I wanted her to do. No, no, _no_, she was doomed.

So, at the barracks' door, right in front of Kommandant Klink's office, I used all of my strength to break away from Rob to see Nancy. I found it and ran back to Klink's office, despite whatever Mother Nature threw at me in the process. Nancy was being herded out of the Klink's office and had a gun to her back held by one of Hochstetter's men. As I ran from the barracks and back to the Kommandant's office, I heard Rob's voice echoing in the storm, my name on his lips and sounding off in the wind. I heard no more.

As I tried to reach Nancy, Hochstetter came up, before I had the chance, and shoved me to the ground. I got up and tried again, but to no avail. The guards there were on patrol and were already blocking my way. The condemned was being shown to her execution sight and there wasn't anything that I could do about it. I was in denial. I couldn't allow it to happen. _Oh, let me talk!_

Nancy – tears on her face? – was red-eyed as she walked towards the Main Gate with Hochstetter and his guard just as the rest of the sentries here continued to mass themselves together and push me back. The storm still raged on and was making me chilled. My now-short hair was stuck to my face. As I wiped it off, I saw Nancy stop and turn to me. Her final words to me were clear and concise and I heard them well. "Tell them that I loved," she said. Hochstetter pushed her on and she turned to face her demise.

Rob must have been behind me for he grabbed quickly me and took me back to the barracks. Schultz was right behind us and as soon we safely went into the barracks, he shut the door behind us. That wind could have left the door open and cracked it to pieces with its force, but I heard creaking noise behind me as Schultz leaned against it (were those his orders?). His weight alone could save the barracks from the weather outside.

As soon as Rob turned to face his men, holding me in front of him, they yelled joyously "Colonel!" or "Kommandant!" They stopped short when they saw me, wet and in some sorry state, I'm guessing. Rob led me ahead, guiding me by the shoulders, to what appeared to be his quarters: quickly and quietly. Closing the door behind him, he guided me to the bottom bunk. I sat, but he gently had me lay down. He was saying some words, but like so many years ago, in another cold place and in another dark time, there were no sounds. His voice seemed so many light years away…

All I remember, after closing my eyes, was hearing a series of shots in the distance.


	12. Prison Life for a Woman

The sun shone in my face one fine morning, sultry and warm. I was startled at first, thinking that I had factory work to do. _I was going to be late!_ I immediately looked for some boots and tried to fix my striped clothing, tried biting my lips for blood to smear on my face, check for ticks and fleas and the rats under the bunk. Then I remembered, as I scampered under the bed and rose, that there was no work here, no factory, screaming or a gas chamber. I remembered that Nancy was cold, dead and probably buried in a shallow mass grave. "Tell them that I loved" indeed! How can you live in the fear of Death's shadow and the enemies that put your life on a sword's tip and say that you loved? _How could you leave me here, alone? How…?_

I sat up against the bunk on the floor and started to sob, putting my hands in my face to muffle the noise.

~00~

After a while, I stopped crying. I heard some loud siren and jumped to my feet, almost hitting my head against the top bunk. "Everybody out, out, out!" the guards outside yelled. Outside these quarters, boots scraped against the floors and doors opened and shut constantly. _Was I supposed to follow them?_ After pondering this and deciding that it was safer to do so (I didn't know the consequences if I didn't) I ventured out into the enlisted men's part of the barracks (if that's what they call it, I have no idea). It was empty. There were no men, no activity, no morning routines, nothing. So I took a deep breath and went out the door I came into before.

Outside, there were about fifteen men. Other men in separate barracks stood in mediocre attention, each with about fifteen or twenty men in each of those twenty barracks. Guards were counting and making checks on their boards. I spotted Schultz at ours, counting as the men outside Barracks 2 yelled and whistled at me. They were turning and not taking any notice of their captors who threatened them with the cooler if they didn't stop the nonsense. Obviously, they've been here too long and haven't seen someone like me much. I didn't care much for their attention, but understood it, nonetheless.

_Wait, Schultz counting, then recounting…roll call?_ I groaned at the apparent circumstance and then noticed Rob to my right as I stood in the doorway. He saw me from behind, as everyone else had, and was motioning for me to stand by him.

I shut the door and jogged to Rob's side and stood in the straightest attention. This was a recent habit of mine. You had to do this at Auschwitz, to live another day. I was so used to doing this to fool the Krauts into thinking that I was well that I went straight into it. _Old habits die hard, indeed._

Rob nudged me in the arm. "You all right?" he asked. But all I could do, after standing up so directly, was look at my boots. I even slouched my back and relaxed more. My eyes filled with unexpected tears again and I knew that if I started to bawl, I'd lose it for a while.

Rob tried grabbing my attention again. "Nikki?" he hissed.

"I'm fine," I said, too quickly, wiping away the tears. Dammit, if he only knew, if only he could understand…

Around me, the men were complaining and moaning after their delight in seeing me. At least I escaped their notice for a while and was glad to hear normal complaints. "Come on, Schultzie, I'm hungry!" "We're all here, let's go already!" To me, the best part was that, at least, it was a warm, sunny, spring day and we're not in the coldest part of Germany's (or even Poland's) brutal and infamous winters. I said to Rob as I listened to these puerile complaints, "Do they stand in endless roll calls that last all day?"

Rob looked at me very darkly, strangely even. He just replied, "We'll talk later" and swiveled his head forward. I sighed. _Even he wouldn't understand._

After Rob took note of the strangeness of my question, the sapless Klink of my first meeting was gone and out came some commanding officer of a prisoner of war camp. Klink came out from his office and screamed, "Schultz, !"

Schultz saluted and went off into a reply. "All prisoners are present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant. Including the PRETTY little Colonel over there –"

"Schultz, shut up and get Colonel Hogan and Colonel Michalovich to my office. Dismiss the rest of the men." Klink turned around and, forgetting something evidentially, turned right back around, saluted and said, "Dddddddddiiiiiissssssss-missed!" Then he finally went back to his office with Schultz trailing behind him as the men took this signal. Rob, however, gave his one of his famous silly sideways glances and shrugged his shoulders at me. He followed Schultz and Klink back to the Kommandant's office. What else could I do but pursue them too?

~00~

"Colonel Michalovich, where have you been? Reports have said that…" Klink was flipping papers on his desk and finally came up to the one he wanted. "…you and Major Donovan-White were to have been transferred here over five months ago to fill in General Burkhalter's quota of women and medical officers in a prisoner of war camp for airmen. Now, tell me this. Where have you _been_?" Rob was standing next to me as Klink asked me this question. Great, just ask me _why_ the Third Reich put me and Nancy at Auschwitz. It was like asking Rob if he had tunnels dug under Klink's desk, which he most likely has done, by the way. Well, to them, it was impossible, hence the point.

I answered Klink, finally, after a thoughtful silence and exchanging an almost inquisitive glare at Rob. After his returning one reassured me that Klink was harmless and that I could say whatever I wished (almost, it warned me), I sighed. I might as well tell the truth to this weakling anyway. "Kommandant, I have been disposed in a horrid place and all I wish for is some –"

"Colonel, answer me. Where have you _been_?" Klink had never been so forceful and so authoritative before. Maybe he has some backbone in him after all (except, of course, when those more powerful than he are around)? I didn't know, but I wanted to equal his tone of voice.

Rob saw it and answered before I could snap at Klink. Rob always knew my temper was infamous and the last time he heard it was the night he left. "Sir, it was just that she was hiding in our tunnel for five months under your office. Our Escape Committee helped her to stay there after she was found in Germany and then the Gestapo found her and spoiled our par–"

Klink didn't want to deal with follies and most certainly Rob's jokes that day. He stood up, slapped his right hand on his desk and said, "Quiet, Hogan! I won't have any of your sarcastic remarks today." Klink turned back to me. "Answer me, Colonel Michalovich…where have you been?"

This time, I snapped and Rob let me go. He might as well for the jokes are over and Klink didn't want to hear them. "Dammit, Kommandant Klink, I have just been released from a nightmarish camp in Poland and you expect me to tell you _why_ the Third Reich put me in another part of hell? Let me tell you something. You think this tattoo was put on for fun?" I showed him, once more, the tattoo that I was given. "You really think that the Major put my friend to death for _amusement_? I –"

"Colonel, that's enough!" Rob stopped me before I got any further and started in on what Sally always called my "other language." I would go further and further and never let go until I've had enough. Rob knew he had to stop me before I hit the cooler for a while. "Kommandant, I think we should be going before she stresses out. You know women." Rob winked at Klink, whose irritation was already gone by the time Rob interrupted me.

Rob then led me out the door, but Klink thought he had the final word. Not quite, though. Sitting down and not so irate anymore, Klink snickered. "Hogan, Colonel Michalovich now outranks you as senior P.O.W. officer according to her transfer papers. I wish you to take your belongings out of the Colonel's Quarters and bunk elsewhere. And Colonel Michalovich, I warn you: if you so as much as speak to me like that again, it'll be thirty days in the cooler and it'll be solitary confinement and I don't care if you're a woman or not. You've already proven to me that you should be treated like the rest of the prisoners."

Klink grinned and was just swimming in this victory until I said something that blew him away. I actually calmed down enough to make a nicer comment to our lovely kommandant who I already hated with a passion. His cowardly and insolent ways irritate me. _No wonder not too many people on his side like him_, I thought. My initial pity for him was long gone.

"Kommandant, I'm flattered," I began. "My first order is that Colonel Hogan be given back his position. I have no wish to be senior P.O.W. officer and command these men." I paused. "I guess the Colonel and I will share quarters and respect the others' space and privacy." I paused again, shrugged my shoulders and continued. "Well, I guess he could bunk elsewhere if I wished."

Klink had become angry again by my audacious comments (sarcastic, really, but revealing too much) and screamed, "OUT!" as us. Rob saluted and led the way out the door and grinned at me as the door slammed behind us. "That saucy tongue!" he added, laughing as we passed the woman in the maid's outfit.


	13. The Tunnels

The door to Barracks 2 opened as soon as Rob touched the door. There were men who were waiting for what went on in the Kommandant's office. However, I had to pass though some friends of Rob's first and have them gander at the female who has joined the camp permanently (I hoped). I also hoped that these men would accept me as their confidant and their friend, for that was what I was aiming for. My loss of Nancy still stung me.

My first sight was upon a small man, shorter than most. He was the one who opened the door. "Colonel Hogan!" the small man, a Frenchman, stood in the doorway and let us in. I walked in with Rob (I was a pace behind him and stepping on the back of his shoes) and it was awkward the way the men just looked at me, just like roll call before this. They haven't seen a woman in months, maybe a year or so, and they looked at me like I'm something new to play with (I felt like I was one of a kind in this camp). It was like a child with a new toy to play with. The child didn't know what to do with it after he received it.

A man in a blue British uniform suddenly, out of nowhere, jumped on a top bunk from his position someplace to the left, the bunk being next to the door. He whistled at me, happy to see me much like the rest of them. Rob was getting angry at that point. Whether it was because I was too close behind him, that I was here in the camp disobeying his requests or that the man in the British uniform was whistling, I'll never know. "Fellows, stop it. This is our new –"

"Aww, gov'nor, this front seat view is just so nice!" the Englander said. "I 'et that she 'asn't seen a male in a –"

"Enough, Newkirk," Rob said sternly. "This is Colonel Michalovich and she'll be bunking in my quarters." Loud protests persisted until Rob said, "_Until_ we find better quarters for her. I doubt Klink will provide it and I don't think she'll want it." Rob had a point: I was one woman and one woman cannot use one barracks and have twenty men double up elsewhere. It's senseless. And however practical I was thinking, I did notice that silence prevailed in the room. Every face was looking at me, this time in a different light, not the toy they imagined but a woman's folly.

Rob continued in so few words: "She's the last survivor."

I inclined my head to the floor. I never felt so embarrassed in my life. Those simple four words made me feel lower than dirt. The last survivor of the H8WC mission and here she was, looking at the floor, in all of her glory: cold, dirty and without decent clothes on but what she probably wore these past few months, without a change of clothes. To me, it was highly embarrassing.

Rob tried getting me to look up, nudging me on the side that hurt the most. I grimaced, feeling darkness descend upon me. I felt as if I was going to faint. I succeed in not doing so, keeping myself awake enough to listen to the introductions made by Rob. "Let me introduce you to the crew. Newkirk you've met." Rob sighed, as if tired of Newkirk doing something.

The Englander waved from his bunk and whistled. "Blimey, gov'ness, welcome to Stalag 13. Been through 'ell, I see. Nice pale 'ace."

I almost laughed at the absurdity of being called "gov'ness" and let it go. They probably will be confused when calling me "Colonel" anyway and trying not to call me "Sir." I wouldn't care, either way. I was losing my sense of formality and prison life had made that way.

The little Frenchman came up to me again. "Moi Colonel, you are so skinny and small." He was right, though. I turned away quickly but the Frenchman pulled me back and kissed me on both checks.

"LeBeau, stop that!" Rob exclaimed. He laughed at me, nonetheless, and said, "LeBeau is our chief." I laughed, very hard too, and then I stopped. It was the first time I had laughed in months and I wondered how I could do that. I noticed Rob had looked at me strangely as I stopped.

Finally, Rob searched around the barracks and asked, "Where's Carter?" Then, a boyish face popped up from the huge crowd that parted, creating a path for this person called Carter.

Carter, too, was looking down and was shy at first. Bashfully, he said as he came up to me, "Hello, Colonel," but this wasn't enough for me. I felt that I didn't need anybody to be shy around me. So, how very uncharacteristically of me (especially as I was military raised and had only shown myself in front of those I knew best), I raised his head up with my hand and kissed him on the check lightly. Boy, did Carter turn _red_!

Newkirk jumped from his bunk and took Carter, who recovered quickly and was deep in excitement. "Mate, 'ere lie the mysterious world of 'irds!" Then everybody laughed. I blushed and looked at Rob, who was laughing. He caught my gaze and winked. His eyes twinkled and this just made me laugh more. I joined in for a while. Maybe things here will be alright after all.

~00~

That night, Rob almost startled me but I found out how their operation worked that way. At the time, LeBeau was cooking a meal and still complaining how thin I was. He asked, "Moi Colonel, what did the Krauts do to you? Hang you by your thumbs and dangle you without food for five months?" I didn't answer him. I mean, how can you explain something like a death camp to somebody who hasn't known that kind of horror? I couldn't even answer why I was always so pale and weak-looking. Those were the questions of the day, by the way: "Why are you so pale and sad-looking, Colonel?" "Why are you so thin, Colonel? Your clothes are hanging on you like a scarecrow." Again, how could I answer? All I care at the moment was that I was in a safer place and so was Father (hopefully) and that I had two or three meals a day and a bunk to sleep in. Luckily for me, I was finally able to exchange my Auschwitz uniform – inappropriate for the camp – for a regular uniform, courtesy of Wilson, the camp medic.

Before dinner, Rob sat next to me at the main table. I was sipping some awful tasting coffee (better than nothing, really) when he said some Underground phrase randomly: "'…the nineteenth century dislike of realism is the rage of Caliban seeing his own face in a glass.'" He stopped himself and then whispered so only I could hear him, "She will be loved…Nikki?"

Oh, damn, I knew some of that somewhere. The rest of the phrase, I mean. The last tidbit was a part of a song that we did as Desertstar. I sighed and calmly said the rest. "'The nineteenth dislike of romanticism is the rage of Caliban not seeing his own face in a glass.'" I paused and said the last part of our song in a small whisper so nobody could hear me, like Rob's last sentence. "It's so hard to say goodbye…Rob."

The men heard the exchange (not the whispers, we can trust) and suddenly came up and patted me on the back, welcoming me here warmly, more so than earlier. Some prisoners appeared angry for not showing respect for me, newly arrived. I didn't mind people welcoming me, for I only want to feel like a person here – have friends here – and not something the men want to play with. I guess just standing there and not being sure who I was confused and scared them. They have some doubles come in and fool them into revealing their operation or something? They must have or else it wouldn't be this way.

And so, just as unexpectedly as everyone came to welcome me, everyone jumped back as they heard a rattling noise. "Carter, watch the door," Rob said as he got up and tapped a bunk, the one nearest the window, twice. The bunk collapsed and it showed how they got away with everything. It was the entrance to their tunnel.

Up came a black American soldier. "Colonel Hogan, questions and orders from London concerning –" The man stopped. He saw me and said, "I guess she's here already."

Rob took the paper from him and said, "Yes, the Krauts gave us the right one this time." Then, turning to me, Rob said casually, "Oh, by the way, this is Sergeant Kinchloe, head of radio operations here."

I smiled at him, noting how close he was to Rob, and said, "Hello, Sergeant."

Kinchloe greeted me back and tapped the bunk again, making sure it was closed completely. The black sergeant then said to me, before he seated himself for some coffee, "Call me Kinch."

Rob, in the meantime, read the paper and looked back up at me. "We've had the Gestapo send agents that look like you, to try to see if we had an operation. All failed miserably and all found themselves elsewhere."

I winced…all of them dead? And why use my identity to obtain information? _Oh wait…they might see a connection between me and the operation they suspect here. They still think I'm a spy and have a file on me. All Hochstetter needs is a confession – as if Nancy's wasn't enough – and we'll all dead._

Rob continued. "You know about the tunnel, but make sure the Krauts never know."

I nodded my head, knowing the over-obvious. I wasn't surprised at their operation anymore or am I surprised that they ran the operation under Klink's nose for a long time. But then, I saw that Rob moved from his position again and that time he went to the bunk, tapping it open as he searched for any tom peepers. It opened and Rob started to climb down. I wasn't sure what he was doing or what he wanted until he stuck his head back up and said to me, "Coming?"

I sighed at the question. I was in no condition to be climbing ladders and knew I was going to black out the instant I tried to position myself that way. I shrugged my shoulders painfully and followed down anyway, knowing that they would all know soon, anyhow. I figured that I had no choice. I mean, it was tough all the way down, I admit it, and I think I made it without showing that I was wounded. Even if Rob noticed, he made no mention of it. Either that or he knows something but can't put his finger on when I was going to admit it to him.

_So, this is their operation_, I thought as I gazed around briefly. The radio room was the first to grace my eyes, while a collapsible cot, bookshelf and extra table and chair shared their space in the room. Beyond the room was a never-ending maze (I even dreaded trying to learn more about the labyrinth), but an exit was within my sight. I assumed that it was the tree stump exit, the one that Duncan told me about. It seemed so long ago.

In between all of my wonder, I saw that Rob motioned that I seat myself at the chair. I did so, next to the radio itself. Rob seated himself in the opposite chair (taken from the table), looking at me carefully, his forehead etched with lines of anger and frustration. Then, relief filled it and he hugged me close, standing me up, and kissed my head. He seated me back and settled himself back into his chair. The first private words that came from his mouth were, "You have the ring?"

_Stupid question, _I thought, as I pull out my locket. He pulled out mine, which was hanging next to his dogtags. He was silent for a while, until he pulled my hand out and said, "Promise me, after the war, this time, for real?" I nodded my head. Rob took it in quickly, without feeling, and swiftly went the point of this meeting.

"Now, to business," Rob said, without a thought about the previous moment. "Nikki, you have to listen to me this time. Nikki?" I felt myself daze off into another world of blackness again, but I caught myself in time. Rob glimpsed at me and continued. "Nikki, I know that this has been hard enough for you as it is. I wish I could tell you that everything will be alright and that I can promise protection for you as long as I can. But it isn't easy anymore. Nikki, our relationship has to be hidden and forbidden for the time being, at all costs, and that's an order. That would be one of my only orders to you other than those I deemed for your wellbeing. If the Gestapo found us about us, we'd be in front of a firing squad. I, for one, couldn't afford to miss you or your father ever again. We parted on dire terms and…" He stopped, noticing my tears. I wasn't upset at him though. I was in pain. My side and shoulder started to pound.

Rob waited until I tried to stop tearing. When I did (it took a while to stop and I didn't bother to watch the time), he went on. "Ok, waterworks off. Now, Nikki, listen. The Gestapo has Desertstar on their hit list. London has the reports about it, for sure. You are on the top of the books for execution and there is a price on your head. They think they know who you are, and think _you_ are Desertstar, a person they think is female, but cannot be sure because of the voice."

I sucked in my breath loudly. _Oh, damn. I am endangering everyone around me!_

"Nikki," Rob went on, "you keep this operation a secret and cease being an agent/singer for the Underground. Or…" He trailed, but I knew what he was saying. _State the over-obvious, why don't you?_ Join and risk my neck. Join and have everyone else shot and killed as spies because the Gestapo finally caught up with our operation and found out who I was just because they followed some paper trail someplace and tortured a few other agents. I could not only kill myself, but everyone else.

I gulped and spoke my peace. "Rob, you're right. I have been thinking about this operation. Yes, you're right that our relationship must be kept a secret from everyone. G-d knows that, we all know that. The Krauts can't find this tunnel. Yes, I will keep this a secret. I just haven't decided whether I can continue this work and risk this whole operation or keep this from the Krauts." I stopped and thought after that. Did I really want to go back to the Underground? Was I being more selfish if I stayed behind and minded the fort? And what about that insufferable Major Hochstetter? He was a huge factor.

I sighed and continued. "I will decide later if I can join, but I can keep this from the Gestapo as much as I can and –"

Carter's voice sounded from above interrupted me. "Colonel Hogan, Gestapo with Hochstetter! They have p-picks and s-shovels and guards with guns!" Rob immediately grabbed my wrist (I never knew was so thin until I saw it Rob grabbed it that easily) and led me up the ladder just in time for an inspection from the Gestapo…again.

Rob dragged me back to the table where more steaming coffee was. He sat down calmly and started to sip his coffee. I tried pushing myself to my seat as I was let go, but I felt pain.

The room spun.

Newkirk and Kinch caught me from behind and got me to my seat just as Hochstetter and his gang of Kraut goons tore down the doorway without a single knock and stormed our barracks. Guns filled their hands, just like Carter said. Everybody's face froze and their fear became hidden.

Rob was the first to speak, a wise-crack that almost made me laugh even as I tried to hide my obvious pain from the Gestapo. "So, Major Hochstetter, have you come here for business or is this a social call?" Just as Rob said that, Klink came in and wrinkled in forehead in aggravation, probably from Hochstetter previously bothering him in his office and making him shrink in fear again.

Hochstetter, meanwhile, closed his glare on Rob and shook his head in anger. "Klink, what is this? This camp seems to think I am some sort of social butterfly!" Laughter erupted in the barracks among the prisoners, but a shot to our ceiling stopped it. Silence prevailed. Nobody was hurt, but they also failed to notice the cool air that was filtering into the room.

Hochstetter, smiling at the shot fire, turned to his guards with the shovels and picks. "Tear this place apart and make sure not to miss an inch!" The guards started their duty, ripping everything apart. The hidden tunnel was, of course, untouched for now. They never detected it even as they dug within the bunk.

Rob seems to be the only calm person in the room and didn't appear to be angry that I brought the Gestapo in. He continued to sip his coffee and didn't notice anything, not even the cool air or the guards pulling the place apart. Putting down his cup of coffee as Hochstetter's goons tried moving him and the men from the table he turned to face Hochstetter again. "Sorry about the already messy barracks, Major. Our cleaning lady just woke up from her last appointment from you two days ago." _I was out sleeping for two days?_ "We'll make more room for you and your men. After all, a clean barracks is a happy barracks."

I was amazed that Rob actually talked for such a lengthy time. Before long, others chipped in. Newkirk said, "And a happy barracks make a happy prison camp."

Kinch added, "And a clean prison camp –"

"SHUT UP!" Hochstetter said. "Klink…put these men on report!" Hochstetter then saw me and smiled. That smile was saved for a reason. I've learned quickly from just one visit that Hochstetter always got to the point. First, he told the men to stop because they found nothing, not even the tunnels hidden deep under the barracks. Second, he targeted me and didn't even bother with the other men, most of whom were shooting protective, already familial glances at me.

"I'm here for you, Colonel Michalovich," Hochstetter continued as his men were finished wrecking the barracks. "You see, we have somebody here who wants to see you. Maybe you have heard from him before this visit, maybe he has contacted you before the war? Or perhaps, you have talked to him…_during_ the war?"

I was so confused until Hochstetter revealed that person as the guards stepped to one side, Klink the last to move as he was being pushed aside. It was George, my stepbrother George, who, the last time I saw him, he was throwing punches at me. Oh, G-d, he was quickly approaching me. After over fifteen years, he still looked boyish and almost as mischievous as Rob, I should like to think now. White temples and a willow's peak indicated that he was really forty years old, almost middle-aged.

George quickly went over to me, ignoring all protests from the other men to stay away from me – Rob looked guilty, but said nothing – except for the Krauts, and stood me up from the table, grabbing my right arm and twisting it to my back. He held me close to him, my back to his front, and pleaded. I felt his breath on my face and almost bolted for the door, but George held onto me steadfast. After all these years he still knew my weak points. So, it was very strange to have him appeal to me and then, like a light bulb, it came to me: Hochstetter's comments became clear. The Major thought we worked together, spying, as George hissed into my ear. "Nikola, run, Hochstetter has something planned –"

Suddenly, a gun (or was it two?) sounded and I was dropped by limp arms. Rob grabbed me before I hit the floor and wrapped something around my right shoulder, bleeding, drop by drop. My side was just as worse; the wound was soaking my clothes. Rob held my shoulder so tightly I was gasping in pain, my blood raining down in my hands. But nobody, not even LeBeau and Carter, could hide the horror that was lying on the barracks' floor. The lump was bleeding profusely in the head and was tranquil, his death throes still.

George was dead.

I finally passed out.


	14. Dreams and Decisions

I had so many dreams, nightmares I could never step out of or memories I didn't want to remember.

One of them I remembered was walking down the halls of my secondary school in Bridgeport, frantically hunting for Rob. It was strange, as I felt myself to be at the age I am now and that Rob wasn't quite around at the time I was there. All I knew was that I had to find him or else something was going to happen to him. I had to warn him of the danger! I felt something evil lurking behind me too, always looking for Rob and always using me to find him. His breath was always on me and when I felt it strongly around me, I ran into the next room.

Another dream I had I felt to be a clearer message.

Rob and I were still in the big band, younger than we are now, and singing in Cleveland, Ohio. Father had his connections there. Because he was a member of the Socialist Party there, he always was able to grab a concert hall in town. Plus, Thomas had his little house there, the one he rented to Father in his years of exile, and we could at least spend the night in someplace warm. But anyhow, there I was, in a concert hall. I was singing in front of an array of soldiers and generals. Father was seated up front as usual and Nicholas, Alexander and Paul waited for me backstage, where they were standing. Rob was playing the drums and there I was, singing my favorite song, "Highwayman" in the silk light-green dress I had that Paul always loved because it matched my eyes.

The only parts I remember singing was its climax.

_A dream as the thunder wakes her  
And her highwayman disappears  
For a life already loved before  
In eyes wet with tears  
Today and still today they ride  
Will they ever win?  
He the glory, she the love  
But still they try again_

Paul and Alexander were whistling at me, for they loved me in shows like this. Nicholas, the pessimistic one always, stood in silence and was angry with me for some reason or another. Father sat smiling at me, as always, and tapping his foot to the rhyme of the song. It was so slow and bluesy and people were dancing to it. I was singing the ending and the band started playing slower and slower until they stopped altogether. It wasn't even the end of the song and that worried me. I was wondering what the hell was going on until I looked behind me by the time it reached silence.

The band was gone! Only Rob remained. He was sitting behind his drum set, head in hands. I turned back to the audience to see that they were gone too! Everyone, including Father, was gone as if they evaporated like mist. Bewildered, I turned around and then behind me to find Nicholas. Paul and Alexander were gone from backstage. There was no sign of them at all.

Nicholas, still appearing as if the world is going to end soon, put his hand on my shoulder and sighed, despite all his anger. He started to speak and at first I couldn't hear his words, but it eventually got louder. "Nikola, you must decide what you must be. You cannot be a good German and kill what we have fought hard to destroy. Nor can you be a good Russian and follow Nancy to her grave. Be strong: believe in the power of the light to guide you in your profound journey." Soon, Nicholas disappeared like the rest, suddenly vanishing. I gasped and jumped back.

But then, there was Rob, standing up from his drum set and finding his way to me, his face still covered with his hands. I ran to him and grabbed him, holding him close, but he gently pushed me back without letting me look at his face. _Why did he do it?_ I then realized when he slowly removed his hands. His face was mutilated and bloody. Death had warmed him over and he looked as if he was newly dead.

Rob still stood in front of me, proud as ever. He took off his colonel's hat and said, "Nikki, it's time for you to decide. The choice was yours and since you declined, we ended. Our future was in your hands. Maybe we will meet again." I was shocked and shook with fear.

Suddenly, I felt myself wake up after that point and sat right up, gasping and sweating. Rob suddenly jumped out of nowhere and pushed me back down. I was panicking at that point, gabbling in a mix of Russian, German and whatever else I knew, "Robbie, run, escape and save yourself!" I kept repeating this and fighting back whatever person was trying to hold me back along with Rob. Then I felt something cold hit my arm.

~00~

I woke up again to a sunny morning feeling groggy, disoriented and dizzy. I turned my head and saw Rob, sleeping in a chair. His uniform and jacket was still on, his hair messed up and face unshaven and his hat tipped to one side. It was almost the way I remembered him the first time I saw him except for the uniform. I almost laughed at him too because it felt the same way! There was me in bed and there he was, unshaven, in uniform and sleeping. I wanted to get out of bed, wake up him and fix him some breakfast, just like I used to when he decided to sleep over Father's and not deal with his parents. I mean, it was absurd. Why be stuck in here when there was a nice day ahead of us? The sun was shining!

There was also someone else in the room and I saw the shadow sway back and forth. A lone figure was facing the window, blocking my view of this beautiful sun-drenched day, his cool voice trailing in German. It grabbed my interest. "Ah, Colonel, I see that you're awake. I know how nurses hate attention towards them." He opened the window and let the warm air drifted in. I breathed it in…so warm!

I replied back to him in a whisper, as to not wake Rob. "_Ja_…but who are you?"

He turned to face me, still talking in German. This time, his voice was lower. "I am a friend of Colonel Hogan's, Mezle." He paused and looked at me severely. Still speaking in German, he said, "Yes, I work for the Third Reich and Germany. I had met the Colonel last year when he was found injured by a bomb planted in the camp. Major Hochstetter thought that if he was going to be able to continue in his usual activities of sabotage, he might set up a trap." I was cringing. _Rob had been injured?_ Then I thought about the loyalties of this person and listened more to him, frantically searching for clues in case he too was a spy and just here to interrogate me. "Colonel, you look good for someone who has been fighting and sleeping for three days." His severe look turned looser and brighter, full of laughter. His blue eyes, I noticed just then, started to sparkle at me.

This…Mezle…continued. "All you did when you gained consciousness, Colonel, was yelling in German and Russian, I believe, that the men had to escape and save themselves."

I was silent. I hadn't realized I had screamed it more than once. I also didn't realize it until then, but every man could have heard me like this. In my embarrassment that followed, I answered him, in German of course. "I was also very worried and still thinking about a major decision I have to make." Why make him know more about what I think? Again, was this a trap from the local Gestapo man, Hochstetter? How do I know that this Mezle is on our side, or if he's in league with the Gestapo? Why should I specify what activities I had done? He could be lying to me about Rob, for all I know, and giving me a sense of worry about him instead of the other way around. Anybody could know that Rob and his men have an operation underground. _Or could they?_

Just as suddenly as I felt alive when I woke up, I felt tire. Too many questions needed to be answered. It was all that thinking and worrying. It was too much for me to handle today and to think that Mezle should have known this! I then slipped back down the bed covers., watching as Mezle raised his eyebrow at my last statement. He asked, "And you have just made your decision?" It was as if he _knew_ what I was about to decide. This just didn't make me any less suspicious of him.

Before closing my eyes to sleep, I said, "I have decided to stay in."

~00~

About a few days later, I was deemed by Mezle to be well enough to get out of bed. This was because I was, stubbornly, slipping out and joining the others in roll call and engaging in camp activities, much to Rob's worry and the other men's glee (after all, I helped to cheer the Barracks 2 men in their games of basketball). Klink, of course, was angry and Mezle was laughing alongside the enlisted men of the camp. Mezle was also amazed that I can still walk. He was also amazed that, malnourished, I was still alive and was able to eat, although in small amounts. LeBeau was already feeding me a lot of food even though it is more logical to eat a little at a time. It is annoying, yes, but necessary to survive and get some things done. And with the added strength I felt as if I could do anything and even not tire myself with paranoid thoughts. But they came, nonetheless.

The day Mezle left after proclaiming me fine to get out of the barracks for good, I was walking out of the barracks alone for the first time. I was walking in the clothes sent in the recent Red Cross packages, instead of borrowing ill-fitting clothes, and avoiding all men at any cost, hiding myself in anything and anywhere. I felt heavy at heart. I was alone for Rob and the others were told to leave me alone for the duration I was in bed. I haven't talked to them since Hochstetter came in the last time I was conscious.

Outside and around me, Rob and his men were playing basketball with the head guard Schultz, who was off duty. Others from different barracks were enjoying the rare warm weather. The constant social buzz rang with letters from home and some rumored war news about the Allied Forces. I walked away from it, ignoring the chatter.

Since I haven't really seen the unvarying barracks around the camp, I decided to take a little tour around the camp for myself. Guards posted around with guns constantly reminded me that I needed to stay away from the fence. I obeyed them instinctively, for Auschwitz had taught me to obey and to work for my freedom. Then, the memories of those months made me think, warm breeze went through my hair. It was horrified to stay there, but at the same time, Stalag 13 held the same fears. It was just a matter of time before I was found out.

I hurdled myself further into my jacket and walked towards the back of the camp. One of the last barracks, 19, stood neatly in the back. I sat down near the door of that particular barrack and tried to ignore the entire whirl around me. I bunched myself into a ball, silent as a grave. Nobody had taken any notice of me there, at the door of Barracks 19, anyway.

I was still outside Barracks 19 at dusk when that siren rang for roll call. I stood up and looked about, wondering where Barracks 2 was from where I was. I had wandered around the camp and didn't seem to know where I was or where I am supposed to be. _Some tour of the camp, indeed_! I ran in the opposite direction, the other side of the camp, I believe. I think that was where Klink's office was. Or was that the guards' quarters? I didn't know, but if I can't find it now and am late, I had to endure a surprise. Or did regular prison camps give surprises to those who are late for roll call? I wouldn't know that either.

In the maze of barracks, at 12 I think, the Englishman Newkirk found me. He was running from behind the building and came around. _What was he doing there?_ It seemed as if he came out of nowhere. _Was he supposed to grab me?_ "Up and at it gov'ness, before 'ld Klink goes mad," he said to me as he turned towards the direction of the Main Gate. I trailed behind him.

Schultz was still counting our barracks as Newkirk and I arrived later than usual. I struggled to find my spot next to Rob when Newkirk snuck behind me and whispered in Rob's ear. I tried not to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to, considering that they were next to me. I didn't hear what Newkirk said, but I heard Rob answer back at him. "Kinch couldn't get any information from London either?" There was more whispering. Before Schultz caught them speaking in low voices and yelled at Newkirk to get back into formation, I heard Rob say to Newkirk, "I'm sure we'll get it." I wasn't sure what he meant by _it_. _Maybe it's nothing and just my imagination again_, I thought.

After counting, Schultz turned to Klink and happily said, "All present and accounted for Herr Kommandant!" Klink didn't look to be in a fine mood and just saluted Schultz and turned back to his office. We were dismissed.


	15. A New Twist in Events

The next evenings were calm enough. I was at Stalag 13 for about a week and half then and had enjoyed some silence until such an evening. Dinnertime and roll call were done and it was 2038 hours, twenty-two minutes and some sweet seconds before the lights have to go out. I was only sitting down, drinking some coffee with Rob and the others when Schultz strolled in with a package. Since nobody was doing anything in the tunnels, we didn't have to worry about stalling him. It had been done already, but best yet was the fact that the Stalag 13 men had already "housetrained" Schultz and it had taken over six months to.

LeBeau, who was seated and not cooking anything this time, looked at Schultz. "Hey there, Schultzie, who's the package for? It looks official."

The bumbling sentry looked at me, seated across from LeBeau, and said, "Package for the sweet little Colonel Michalovich. I have orders from the Kommandant to give it to her. It's from somebody very im-por-TANT!"

"Who's the sender, Schultz?" Rob asked as Schultz went around the table, amid confused and worries stares, and gave me the package. The box was long and thin, wrapped with some tissue paper. Its weight seemed like nothing, portrayed by its initial appearance. _What person would send me anything _now_?_

"I know NOTHING!" Schultz answered back and went out the door he left open before any could bribe him with chocolate. Then, remembering something, Schultz turned around and said, "Oh, and Colonel Hogan…lights out soon. You know the Kommandant. He's in a FOUL mood tonight." He then spun to the door and walked out, finally closing the door. I think Schultz might have been listening at the door again for the door creaked under some major weight. I sighed. This was going to take a while to get used to.

_That_ was the least of my problems though. There was that package to consider, too. After comprehending the situation, I felt the blood rush to my face as everyone in the room stared at me, another thing I had to become accustomed to. I opened the package quickly and with some viciousness, trying to get it over with. Out came a silk nightslip and without my notice, it slipped out of my hands and almost stood in the air, as if pausing for all to see, before sliding aimlessly to the floor. There was a note along with it, in German, which I sadly understood:

_Dearest love, how I would hate the moments in which I would have to wait for you. I could hold you in my arms and kiss your thin body. Forget the past – think of the future._

_An admirer_

"The nightie came with the note." Rob picked up the note on the table where I dropped it in sheer shock. He quickly scanned it and left it beside me on the table as he did not make out the words. I, however, could not talk. I was so disgusted with what I've read that I wanted to vomit. I didn't even notice that Rob was going on about this embarrassing episode until he said, "I never knew you had any German admirers, Colonel Michalovich." Rob continued on as if this was nothing.

I tried to hold back the lump in my throat as I replied. "I didn't know even know I had any, either." My neck picked up the situation and warned me. I ignored it but I knew that it was right. There is something fishy about this note and about the way Rob was acting. It was as if he_ knew_ something about it or had a hunch about who it was from.

Newkirk popped his head from under his pillow and sat up in his top bunk. "Maybe it's Carter 'nd his newf'und love! Blimey, Carter, I never knew you 'ad it!"

The men started to laugh. Even I was getting a small chuckle out of this idiocy until I saw the postscript on the bottom of the note. This was meant not to be seen except for me, but it scared me worse, for it was in Russian. It was strange to see two languages in one note.

_Please wear this gift. You know, love, how much it'll mean to me to see you in it_.

Suddenly, the laughter stopped. I must have given the impression of being distressed about this, for a few men started to express their concern. "What did the Kraut put? It must not be that bad!" "Damn Krauts, they're always scaring off our woman!" All I could do was shake my head and get this package _away_ from me as fast as humanly possible. It was better on the floor anyway.

"It's nothing, really," I said. A few satisfied men climbed into their bunks and rolled over for sleep. Others stared at me, convinced that the damn Krauts really upset me. Their little minds were at work plotting to get back at them somehow (we always did and the pranks against the German guards and Klink were endless). I just wanted to get away from this next unraveling scheme.

At that point, thank G-d, Schultz opened the door and broke the prisoners' attention off of me. "Come on, come on, come on, lights out! EV-ERY-BODY lights out!"

Rob, always sitting calmly and sipping his coffee, got up and offered me his arm as his coffee cup was swept away to the sink by an enlisted man. "To bed?" he asked. I picked up the nightgown and note, put them back in the package and linked my other arm with Rob's. We went to his quarters and separated our link as Rob went to close the door. I sat in my bottom bunk and started to dress into my own night clothes, my nakedness hidden behind the blanket, while hiding the hideous package under the bunk. I didn't want to see _it_ or Rob's face.

Rob, meanwhile, was turning off the lights and closing the windows to the already boarded framework when he turned to me and asked through the blanket tacked to my bunk, "What did the Kraut really say?"

I popped my head out from the blanket, without showing much more than my head, and told him, in verbatim. I could tell this made him more nervous than ever, especially the post script in Russian. It indicated where he might have come from and/or what he knows about me already. We could have a clue, already, about the person who wrote the note.

Rob started to pace the small quarters. Just watching Rob pacing like that though has always made me just as uneasy as he was. I whispered, as to not let the guards and especially the other men hear, and to cover my nervousness, "A German – a general, perhaps – who knows German and Russian, probably works at the Eastern Front and has probably seen me or has heard about me from Mother. But who could he be and what does he want, obviously?" After I thought about it for a second I said, "He wants to get information from me through his own sick kind of manipulation, maybe. It won't surprise me in the slightest, though." I gulped audibly. I didn't _feel_ like mentioning what it was because I was able to grasp what most of them were.

Rob stopped pacing and looked at me. "It's that damned rocket base, Nikki. The Germans must now think you are really the last survivor of H8WC and want information from you. Hochstetter was right in following you this time. We have to fool him to think that you were not involved." _Obviously we do Rob,_ I thought as he continued. "The Underground and the Germans both have been hearing things about you, how you danced and flirted in Paris, they said. That was your myth, the story, your legend. They believed it because the Generals kept going back and the offensives were, all of a sudden, countered and defeated. Nobody had any idea about it until they started to see the patterns."

I took the blanket off of the bunk, as I was dressed, and was now sitting on the edge of it. As Rob stopped, he went up to me, kneeled in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders. I winced as he went on to state more of the obvious. "Nikki, you were fooling around with the greatest generals like Mata Hari and passing military information to the Allies. The Krauts understand that now and want to do something about it. According to London, Berlin compiled a file on you, under the name of Desertstar. Because Hochstetter has figured two and two, he has you targeted for execution in Berlin with Hitler and Himmler in attendance. He doesn't have the evidence yet and that's what they want. But if you're caught, you have the information they want to hear, under torture."

Rob sighed loudly as if he was remembering what he said to me that last night in London. He took his hands off of my shoulders (much to my relief) and then started pacing again, hands behind his back this time. Back and forth, back and forth, thinking…finally, Rob stopped mid-pace and turned to face me again. "We need to destroy that rocket base before the Krauts destroy us. And you're going to help us achieve it, Nikki."

~00~

I was midway to Klink's office the next morning, remembering how Rob was thoughtful in his plans and absolutely insane…_is_ insane, more like it. Oh yes, he told Kinch, Newkirk, LeBeau and Carter what was going on (I figured this to be his working main group and top confidences in this camp). The entire plan has a thumbs-up from the London. We also need to work with the Allied Underground here in Germany, namely the newly formed Unit 7, as was ordered earlier by London has Kinch radioed them. Meanwhile, I was to distract the person who sent me the note, or the person who is in charge of the rocket base (one and the same person, Rob and I think, because the note was written to me, so someone is aware that I am the last survivor in the now infamous H8WC mission).

Of course, there were protests when Rob told the crew about the plans. I knew that he told Kinch about them. There was no complaint as they were radioed, so I await their conviction on this. Newkirk was the first, and quite frankly, I wanted to slap him. "Colonel, may I suggest that our little bird not be put to flight so soon. This way –"

"Oui, come on, Colonel Hogan, we can use her in a different manner," chimed LeBeau.

It seemed as if a thousand voices were raised then, like the whole camp was in an uproar, but Rob quieted them for now. "Ok, ok, ok, fellows, I understand your sudden concern for the Colonel. She has agreed to this plan _without_ any hesitation."

All four of them, plus the others in the barracks, stared at me. Carter, especially, looked at me with concern. Ever since that first day, he has had this silly attachment with me and will not let it go. He was parading me around the tunnels yesterday morning after roll call. I was amazed at how many rooms and tunnels there are and the elaborate way one is created. There is a tunnel under every barrack except for Barracks 4, the empty barracks. "Why don't you dig under here, just in case something happens? What if Klink has confined you there and someone needed to get out through the tunnel system?" I asked him. Carter could only shrug his shoulders and moved on.

Kinch was the first to speak after this revelation. "Colonel, can you explain?" he asked me. Kinch had a kind face to him and was very friendly. I trust him as Rob does, him being Rob's right-hand man.

I sighed and started, bold enough to talk if there _were_ any microphones around (although I believe that Rob would have had debugged them all). "The person, most likely a general or somebody high and mighty from the Russian Front judging from the postscript, has probably seen me through my mother's family or has seen me someplace during the mission, most likely the former or even both. In that case, he might be using me for information concerning the rocket base or for his own gain because I am – _was_ – an agent before being captured. Then he'll have some hefty reward from Himmler and Hitler when he sees me off to Berlin. But, before London approves the plan to annihilate the base, I am to distract and use _him_. He'll be the person who fills in the missing pieces London needs. Colonel Hogan and I believe that he and the commander of the rocket base are one and the same person. Even is this means destroying my…" I trailed, thinking of the proper word, then continued. "…self, then I'll do it."

I think they all understood. Rob's crazy plans always work, or so I'm told. We agreed on this plan last night that it was for the best, another great sacrifice for the Allies.

All heads turned as we heard the Main Gate open and a guard from the tower hollering in German about an important visitor (I could also tell by the way Schultz was yelling at everyone else to step aside). I stood up, almost toppling back into my seat in a swift, dizzy movement, and said, "That's my cue." I walked out the door quickly without anyone noticing how sick I was at that moment. I also had Carter follow me out the door.

I was just about to go into Klink's office, after all of the fuss over the visitor was done, when Carter tapped my unhurt shoulder. I nearly whammed him in the face (I thought it was Schultz again, trying to get a kiss or two out of me, or even try to flirt) until I turned around and took a good glance at him. Obviously, he was carrying his trash stick and bag to clean the camp (a cover-up, for sure, just so that he can talk to me). Why was he following me?

"Good luck S-sir…I mean, M-madam," Carter said.

I sighed, not knowing what to do with Carter. He was afraid for me, apparently. This mission _has _to be done and I'm the only one with the information and skill to do this first step, one of many in Rob's mind at this point. So, with some hesitation, I hugged Carter (he gently put his arms around me, dropping his cover-up) and said to him, "I'll be fine, thanks, Carter. I think it'll be best to stand back and follow what Colonel Hogan tells you all to do."

At least Carter understood to let go so I entered Klink's office without looking back. I could hear Carter behind me picking up his cover-up disguise and walking away.


	16. Spying

"Klink, I never knew that you had such a charming female prisoner!" Gestapo General Frederick Hozellenan of the Russian Front said. I had "accidentally" interrupted his meeting with Klink (I had initially "wanted" to talk to Klink about prisoner behavior towards me), and upon talking to me about my life (I was very vague: I lived with my mother and moved in with my father at fourteen and eventually, lived with the family of my fiancé until the war brought me to England), the General had asked that I stay. I saw that his eyes shone as I finished and I knew that Rob and I hit the target with this particular visitor. I used all the charm I knew when talking to him and it worked.

The General offered me a cigarette as he told me to sit down. I took it and held it out for him to light. As my cigarette was being lit, I also took note of a black bag the General had carried to the back of Klink's office when I arrived. He kept his eyes on it as I did, I could see, and that something urgent in there was apparent all-too-clearly in his eyes. It was the _way_ he kept staring back at it and then back to me and Klink. I smoked on, knowing all too well about what might happen to me if he knew I had nabbed the contents of his black bag. _I have to get somebody to photograph those contents later_, I thought. Anything missing, however, might throw suspicion on us and my protection from Hochstetter – albeit temporary, for the time being – will be opened up. And I wasn't about to compromise anything for fall into the hands of Hochstetter.

Back to the office: Klink, in all of this observing and reasoning, broke my train of thought with his babbling. "Yes, charming, charming! I never knew about how charming she was! So quiet, General Hozellenan, when she came here! One of a kind, a woman of –"

"Yes, yes, Klink." Hozellenan waved his hand at Klink and drew closer to me, sitting down in the chair next to me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath and felt his hand rest on my injured shoulder as he stood up again and went behind me. I had to fight the impulse to flinch away, so I tried to concentrate on something other than Hozellenan. I looked at the picture of Adolf Hitler, frozen in the middle of an animated speech, on Klink's wall next to the door. It seemed like it was years, not just mere days ago, that Nancy was knocked to that wall by Major Hochstetter. If only she hadn't talked and saved my damned ass, she would have been alive today instead of me. Tears were filling my eyes and I felt relieved in some other way that Rob couldn't see them. He and the others were listening to this from the bug in the picture of Hitler, which was the one I found was connected to a coffee pot in Rob's office, the receiving end being Hitler's microphone.

Klink looked as if he believed I had the General curled around my finger. Hozellenan was drunk, to be sure, and he was flirting with me. It figures. But is Hozellenan the one who suspects me? Is he the mysterious writer, the one who wants to lure me away from the plan of destroying the rockets? Does he even _work_ there? Does he even know _who_ I am? An even worse thought: is he the disastrous link in H8WC that London thinks there is, as Kinch told Rob? Was he the spy that led the agents to their deaths? If the latter was the case, then he'll know not only _who_ I am, but he'll have the hard evidence to bring me to execution, and all he has to do is order me out of camp and then –

Again, my thoughts were interrupted and this time, it wasn't Klink. "You are quiet, Colonel Michalovich. Why are you staring at our wonderful Führer? Power-looking, is he not?" Hozellenan drew his hand off my shoulder and chuckled as he went back to a cabinet to pour himself more alcohol. I nearly slapped myself in the face for choosing to stare at the picture. I could have indicated that there was a bug in the picture's microphone! Rob and the operation could have been discovered!

Hozellenan drowned in his last drink, which sat on top of the cabinet opposite of the door, and turned to face Klink. "Well, Kommandant Klink, it was lovely to see you." Hozellenan picked up his black bag and continued (with me wondering why it was a pleasure for Hozellenan to see Klink). "But, alas, I must be going back to Victoria. That dominant soul…the Colonel here seems to appear so much like her." I almost gagged on my cigarette (I hate that habit, all thanks to Ted, by the way) and ended up extinguishing it with my saliva. _My Mother? What is he talking about?_ The thoughts spun in my head.

Hozellenan, thank G-d, wasn't paying attention to my surprised face (either that or he was stoic in his manner, which I know to be _not_ the case) and talked to Klink instead. "Klink, I hope to leave this bag in your safe for, ummm, keeping? I'll have my Gestapo man change the combination for you." Hozellenan winked at me and said, "Top secret, you know?" He then offered me an ashtray for my now wet cigarette and had Klink call his man in. Klink also had Hozellenan's car called to the front of the office.

While Klink was excitedly saying how much he enjoyed this visit and the Gestapo man was working away on Klink's safe, Hozellenan locked his beady eyes into my face, something that annoyed Klink. I caught his eyes – the gaze seemed to figure out all of your secrets if he looked long enough – and wondered why he would look at me so. He surprised me even more when he asked in Russian, "Are you busy tonight?"

Klink stopped his babbling because of this lack of attention to him and stared at me. I was silent until Hozellenan asked again, in Russian, "Well, are you, Colonel Michalovich? I should love your company." I thought quickly: so, he's luring me away from the black bag with a night – daytime trip maybe – with him. Just leaving them with Klink is trying to tempt me to steal them or even photograph them for that matter. Dammit, this general has thought of everything! So Hozellenan is the mysterious writer as we originally thought!

I turned again to face him, giving him my best smile, which was _very_ forced indeed. I answered him back in Russian, "Will I have a choice in the matter? I am bound to serve and obey my betters." I meant it to be pleasant, but it came out sarcastically.

Hozellenan tilted his head back, laughing. In English, he said to Klink, "You're right about her, Klink – one of a kind indeed!" Turning to leave for his car, which was now pulled up, Hozellenan spoke to me again in Russian. "I will take care of your escape. Leave it to me."

Saying "Heil Hitler!" behind him and saluting in such fashion, Hozellenan left, the black bag safely deposited in Klink's safe and that Gestapo man was gone with him. I had never felt so relieved about a mission – or part of one, I should say – in my life. The hardest part was over.

Klink, who was once so giddy and smiling, now turned to confront me, very angry indeed. "Colonel Michalovich, I will NOT tolerate you interrupting important visits like Colonel Hogan does. Next time it happens, it's going to be forty-five days in the cooler and ten days confined to the barracks without privileges. And I don't care that it's harsh and extreme or that you're a woman! Dismissed!" Klink saluted and moved back to his desk.

Stunned (for once), I saluted him back and went out of the office, almost bumping into Mrs. Linkmeyer, who was secretary for Klink, for the time being (I also seemed to recall the men calling her "Dragon Lady" and upon seeing her, I could see why). I giggled at how she lovingly went into Klink's office with a tray full of food (I heard that the other two secretaries – Hilda and Helga – never did that) despite the outcome of this meeting. However, nothing will be funnier than telling Rob what I think Hozellenan _really_ is.

~00~

"He wants to do _what_?" Newkirk was the first to speak when I came back and told what went on in Klink's office. The others, minus Rob and Kinch, almost simultaneously pitched in their opinions and protests as I spoke the truth behind the words they heard on the coffee pot. LeBeau, who was preparing dinner, yelled over the voices. Before (moments before I told anybody about what really went on), when I inquired from LeBeau where Kinch and Rob were, he replied that they had an urgent message from London and that they'll be back soon. I told him, in turn, that Hozellenan brought a black bag and that it was in Klink's safe, under a new combination. We had also quickly developed a code, just in case I was taken away by the Gestapo (I knew it to be very soon) so that pictures can be taken of these vital documents and examined. He'll need Newkirk for cracking the new combination, for he's the best at doing so.

Meanwhile, the uproar about the planned night (or day) visits with Hozellenan continued. Like I said, even LeBeau, in continuing to set up dinner, tried to get rid of his anger and anxiety by yelling out his opinion. I mean, all I told him was that there was a black bag with things in there that need to be photographed and then he hears about this and explodes. I could tell that he was just as frustrated as the rest of them though. "It's a trap! It's someplace to get you killed!" "Don't go gov'ness!" "Oui, oui, moi Colonel, it's a trap!" Nobody had noticed the rattling below from the entranceway to the tunnel opening or that Rob and Kinch had popped their heads up from said tunnel.

Rob tapped the bunk behind him and noticed the men yelling at me. "Fellows, fellows, here's information from London! This means you too, Colonel."

It was hushed at last. Rob pulled up a seat by the table and grabbed a cup of coffee that LeBeau had placed for him. Rob then pulled a paper from his jacket pocket and said, "Kinch, watch the door." As Kinch went to the door and inched it open just so, Rob unfolded the paper, carefully looking to the windows, also making sure that there were no guards within earshot. Satisfied that we were alone, he said, "I've got the information from London about him, General Hozellenan." He cautiously read the note to himself before speaking, knowing that I was impatient to hear the news. "Hozellenan is a top general at the Eastern Front, except he's been avoiding the sleigh rides near Stalingrad. He has been known to take himself behind the lines to counterspy on the Underground units and has taken part, as an agent, in their assignments. His codename is Red Dragon." Rob then lowered his voice and almost hesitated. "London thinks that his last assignment was to take part in H8WC. He was to kill or capture all agents. They also think he obtained this piece of information, like all the others, from some double agent named Duncan McLean – codename Robin Hood – who owned the nightclub _Nite Lites_."

I wasn't as shocked at this announcement. Duncan was relaying our information to the Germans this time, big deal (although, thinking about his codename, used on both side, I could see how he was taking from the rich and giving it to the poor, or taking vital information and giving it to the other side). And the codename of Red Dragon had a ring to it, as I _thought_ there was someone by that name at the time of the mission.

The questions remain, though: why was Duncan shot in the end? Why were Nancy and I spared? Were we the two who were to confess before we were killed? If that was the case, then why were we sent to Auschwitz and then to a male camp for aviators and flight personal? Why did they just keep us in such cases if all they wanted was information or, for that matter, _female_ medical personal on the camp site? Or, are they waiting for the Underground to strike before proving that I was _directly_ involved? I would never know the answers to these questions.

Rob folded the paper and continued, staring unswervingly at me especially when speaking. "This is a serious undertaking, Colonel. Hozellenan knows who you are and what you might be doing with the Underground and probably us. London is still iffy on you going undercover like that again, but you're the last survivor and –" he winced at that word again, "the only one with more knowledge about this mission than anyone else here. London says that Hozellenan has to be 'demised.' The base has the same coordinates, but is more heavily guarded than it was back in December, the time it was breached. Colonel, you know all this, you know the changing of the guard and what escape routes are available if something goes wrong. You even know –"

Kinch interrupted him. "Colonel Hogan, Krauts coming. It's Hochstetter and gang again!" Shutting the door quickly and quietly behind him, Kinch and the others resumed their normal prisoner of war activities, such as reading letters from home and sipping our weak, sorry coffee. I remained very still in my seat and tried to eat the food LeBeau had given me at the moment. Rob, however, continued to sip his coffee calmly, the notes about Hozellenan. How, like every other time there's trouble, I will never know.

The door, as we continued our prisoners' norm, eventually swung open, causing me to almost drop my food out of my mouth (that was how startled I was) and it didn't matter that I knew Hochstetter was coming ahead of time but that he's _here_. Hochstetter, however much he frightened me, still marched in, with two guards. His eyes planted themselves on Rob this time. I was afraid for a split second that this was the moment that he'll take him away and shot us all as spies. I knew better, though. If Hochstetter was going to do that, he would have done it point-blank. What, then, did Hochstetter want from us this time?

Hochstetter started out too nicely. "Ah, Colonel Hogan, I see that you're here." Rob ignored him and continued to sip his coffee, barely giving the Major a single greeting. There was to be no sarcastic reply for Hochstetter. Then, I saw that Hochstetter's eyes started to gaze back at me. I knew that he wanted me and something more for Nancy's confessions had not been enough (this was what I meant when I said he was satisfied to a point with her confession, a little false it had been). In that chilling voice, he almost seemed to have confirmed my thoughts. "Colonel Michalovich, also a pleasure to see you. Did you know that you're wanted at Gestapo Headquarters by the orders of General Hozellenan? The General has requested seeing you there."

Hochstetter turned to his guards. "Arrest her," was all Hochstetter needed to say before Rob stood by quickly to protest. "Major, I disagree. The Colonel here is a woman. What can she do? She just got here. How –"

"Shut up, Hogan, or you'll be joining her, instead at a firing squad, which is where you and your men should be." Hochstetter's men had grabbed me from my place at the table and dragged me out the door, knocking over much as I was not walking but being led with limp legs. This was my chance to tell LeBeau that tonight was _the_ night to get those pictures and _quickly_.

"LeBeau, remember the pictures for the scrapbook!" I yelled in desperation. "I would like to package it to my father tonight. It _has_ to be tonight!" Hochstetter slammed the door behind him as I yelled this, the back of his boots hit by the door. He then directed the guards to put me in the first of two cars while he followed me in the second.

I could only hope that LeBeau heard me. Behind me, I heard no uproar to being me back into the clutches of the Krauts. Everyone in camp knew where I was going. It was just a matter of _if_ I'd come back alive or at all.


	17. Plans and Schemes

Hochstetter had followed the car I was in for about five miles into the Hammelburg forests and then turned to go into town, probably back to Headquarters. The guards, who sat on both sides of me, had directed the driver to go deeper into the woods away from Hammelburg.

My mind raced. Where was I going? And why did Hochstetter leave in another direction, or even in another car? _He's just heading to Gestapo Headquarters for reinforcements and witnesses to see me interrogated_, I thought while we were going deeper into these forests. I also thought that Hozellenan wanted me at Gestapo Headquarters. No, he would want me alone and without the Gestapo on his back. _Then_ he receives his highest awards from Hitler. Wait, he probably _runs_ the Gestapo, so he can order everyone out of the way. My next question remained unanswered: if he didn't want me at their headquarters, like Hochstetter indicated in his speech at the barracks, then why am I heading in the opposite direction of town?

The guards had been silent on this ride besides telling the driver where to go, so it was a surprise to me that one of them spoke to me finally. The guard to my left finally talked in this hushed ride but the only word I heard from him was "Colonel?" It was only an inquiry and it required my attention. I turned my head, only to find some handkerchief in my face and seeing darkness fill my eyes.

~00~

I awoke to a dark room with my head resting on my chest and feeling stiff as a board. I started to gag and realized that not only was I stiff, but I was tied up in a chair and that I had something in my mouth that I couldn't get out. I felt vomit rising in my throat and fought to keep it back. I wanted to escape and knew it was going to be hard enough being restrained. I tried tipping my chair to one side but I found that I didn't have the strength and ability to. My side and shoulder throbbed for the first time in a long time. Thoughts even filled my paranoid mind. _Are Rob and the men all right? Did Hochstetter nab them too? Did Hozellenan have them killed on the spot or he is just after me? Where is he then? Let me face him!_

My thoughts were disturbed by some noises, namely some chairs or something being over-turned. I heard yelling – two people, one male and one female – and finally, a lone gunshot. I winced as my neck prickled. _Was that for me, too? Was that an Underground agent killed because of me? Was it Rob or any of his crew? Had they caught us at last? _My thoughts scrambled everywhere.

I heard a click and looked up. The door in front of me opened and in came someone I preferred not to see: Hozellenan with a gun. He clucked his tongue at me, shaking his head at his mockery of me. He then took up a chair from the other room and placed it in front to me, sitting in it and stroking my head's raised hair with the barrel of his gun. I couldn't move; I knew I was a goner. I went to concentrate on something else so I looked past this chilling situation. Beyond Hozellenan in the hallway, where the door was open, a pool of blood flowed and a lone arm reached out as if it was a drowning person reaching for something to hold onto in the water. Hozellenan then stopped cuddling me with his gun, seeing that I was concentrating on something else outside the doorway, and went out to shot the person again, who soon became still once more, no screaming or twitching. Who this person was, I had no idea. He or she was just another victim if this madness.

Hozellenan then returned to me, knocking over the chair he had before and removing my gag and letting me breathe, the vomit remaining locked in my throat. I looked at him maliciously and received a blow to the face. Hozellenan then got up and slammed me, still tied in the chair, as hard as he could to the nearest wall. I felt blood running down my head. He dropped me back to the ground, the chair not upright, beginning his terrifying explanation. "Nikola Anna Michalovich, Colonel, LC8547960, Jewish bitch! Your mother was right. There was no time in chasing after you, like George did. And for working with the Allied Underground, he was shot.

"Oh, my Nikola, I love how you have fallen into your own demise! I love it how your mother did the same thing, too. She married me. She dangled in politics like you and had evidence to condemn me to the hangman's noose because my work could be directed elsewhere. At least you stopped this nonsense as soon as you hit Auschwitz, so I hoped. You are young and careless and so…" He picked up the chair and placed it upright again as if the weight of me in there was nothing. He even caressed my chin with his hand, not his gun this time, and hit me again suddenly. "Jewish sorceress! It is your fault that George tried to reconcile with the past and join the Allied side against Germany. Kurt and Warner are at the rocket base, safe guarding the wishes of our most esteemed leader, Adolf Hitler, heil to him. And at least your mother is now dead, thanks be to Hitler."

"Don't you mean, safe guarding your own ass?" I asked spitefully.

I was already angry, and it quickly turned to terror as soon as Hozellenan hit me and pulled out his gun again. "Don't tamper with me, Nikola. You know about the rocket base. But did you know that Duncan McLean was the one who betrayed you? He was shot because he changed his mind and tried to save you all. Oh yes, Nikola, I know about _Nite Lites_ and dancing with the top generals in Paris. I even knew your every movement there, every microphone you planted and even which information you passed to the Allies in London." Hozellenan then pulled the safety off his gun and continued his ranting. "And by G-d and Hitler, Nikola, I'm going –"

Suddenly, Hozellenan fell unconscious to the floor. The light behind him revealed people I couldn't be gladder to see: Kinch and Rob dressed in Gestapo uniforms and hidden with masks. Kinch was holding some chair midair, but he dropped it on top of Hozellenan. Then he pulled down a mask, covering his face, and said, "Good riddance. Colonel, according to Carter, we have fifteen minutes to get the Colonel to the agents and back to camp. This place is going to go up!"

Rob was untying me from the chair and already noticing all the bruises and bloody spots I attained from Hozellenan. He gently touched my head, washing himself in my blood, and pulled himself away from me, quickly remembering our promises. He quickly wiped the blood away, too.

Turning back to Kinch, Rob said, "Tell Newkirk to hurry with the safe and get the remaining papers out about the rocket base. That would fill in the missing links to the papers he and LeBeau photographed. Make sure that you also get Newkirk and Carter out of here and meet LeBeau at the lookout point. Watch out for Hochstetter. He's looking out for the Colonel here on the orders of Hozellenan. It all depends on whether she gave information, dead or alive. Get back to camp and don't wait for me. _And that's an order!_"

Kinch replied, "Right, Colonel Hogan" and ran out of the room.

Rob turned his attention back to me. "Hochstetter has orders to nab you at the corner, under guard. We figured out Hozellenan's signal that will ensure that you'll get back to camp alive by Hochstetter. Hozellenan's signals depended on what information you gave and whether or not Hochstetter could interrogate you further." He shuddered and then grinned at me, hiding his fear, and then finished getting the ropes off of me. Upon finishing, he picked me up against my weak protests and carried me out of that room, past the dead body of a woman and downstairs. At the doorway were two Underground agents dressed as my guards, ready to escort me back to Hochstetter.

Rob kissed me hastily before putting me back on my feet again. "See you at camp," he said before running out the door, into the night.

~00~

The Underground agents, dressed as guards, escorted me about half a mile from Hozellenan's home and acted their parts well, watching me carefully and scoffing once in a while. Ahead of us, Hochstetter's car was parked there already and he was surprised to see me alive.

Hochstetter, never one for expressing how he feels directly, said, "Well, well, Colonel, I'm surprised –" An explosion interrupted him. Fragments from the house shattered in our direction. Hochstetter threw himself to the ground just as the guards threw themselves on top of me. It was instinct, but German guards would protect important prisoners until their need to the Third Reich came to an end.

As soon as the major explosions ceased and the house remained on fire, Hochstetter got up and said, "Sabotage! Colonel, when I find out you and Hogan did this, heads will roll! Get her into the car!" The agents, acting as the usual Gestapo goons, picked me up and threw me into the car harshly and shut the door, as per their disguise. Hochstetter then climbed in and screamed at the driver to move onward to Stalag 13. The driver obeyed him quickly and even ignored Hochstetter's screams of frustration and anger.

The next hour in the car was hell for me, one of the worst with Hochstetter I ever had. And I was pretty damned sure that Hochstetter ordered it to be an hour, just so that he could torture me for a job I never did.

~00~

Dawn was drawing red and orange lines in the skies when I returned to Stalag 13. Schultz was doing roll call. Klink was actually standing outside and by the looks of it, searching for me. He was scanning the forests and even had some guards exploring the woods outside the camp. Klink was that concerned for me when he saw the car arrived, calling his guards back in, and ran to the car when Hochstetter shoved me out. I didn't know that Klink was capable of compassion, but I saw it in his eyes for the first time. I was moved…a little.

Immediately, Hochstetter shut the door and drove out. I don't think he wants to listen to Klink anymore than I did then. I was ready to scream if he started to babble about the camp's escape record, which was none, according to him (of course, we don't say a word about prisoner exchanges). Klink did help me up from the ground though, so humane of him, and signaled to the guards in the tower at the gate to call in the others in the woods because they had not listened to him initially.

Schultz glanced at me as he was taking count at roll call and counted me as is. "All present and accounted for, Herr Kommandant!" he said happily as he checked me on his board.

Klink was, obviously, very snappish as he held me up and steadied me on my two feet. "I know that, Schultz. Dismiss the men and get Hogan into my office at once!"

Rob, worried about me when he saw my new collection of bruises from Hochstetter, took my arm from Klink and led me to the office, walking behind Klink and almost stepping on his boots, so dirty from seeking me out earlier in the evening. I couldn't stand up, even when Rob was walking me, and was ready to pass out again, mostly from exhaustion.

In his office, Klink was just as worried and much more than he showed outside. He indicated that I be seated next to Rob in the chairs in front of his desk. I was guided by Rob to my seat gently and, struggling to stay awake, thought about the hours before.

As soon as I sat down, Klink started to pour his concern. "Colonel Michalovich, please sit. Now, take a cigar, make yourself at home here." I was puzzled. What did Klink want? Is his concern false? And why was he welcoming me with open arms this time? Did he want information, just like everyone else? Do I need to _manipulate_ him too?

Rob grabbed two cigars out of Klink's box and handed me one. Taking out a lighter I've never seen before from his bomber's jacket, Rob lit my smoke and his as well as Klink got up from his desk and started to pace his office. _That_ was unusual for Klink. He usually is trying to keep up with us prisoners and run the camp (of course, there have been no successful escapes at Stalag 13, as he likes to brag).

Klink got to the point finally as he stopped pacing. "Colonel, I understand that General Hozellenan was killed an hour ago at his home. Major Hochstetter is pinning this on you and Colonel Hogan and…" He stopped. _How did he know that? _Klink turned to face us, only to see bruises on my face and arms. "Colonel, what happened?" Klink shouted, obviously more concerned than I thought he really was.

It was pretty stupid that he hasn't seen me like this as I came into camp. _This was why I wasn't steady on my feet Kommandant!_ I wanted to scream at him. Instead, I tried to create a lighter scene in his office. "Oh, geez, Kommandant, you mean these? Oh, I was just playing in some room with Hozellenan because he wanted me and that was when Hochstetter came in and planted some –"

"Colonel, shut up!" Klink said, "Dismissed! You too, Hogan! Out! Colonel, take a warm shower and see the medic! That's an order!" Puffing the last of our cigars, Rob and I left the office and went back to the barracks. At the doorway of the barracks, before we dared to enter, Rob ruffled my hair, saying "Nikki, you give Klink too much information. Why, he'll be jealous of that Hozellenan soon!"

I laughed and opened the door, intent on sleeping for the remainder of the day. I even gave my second and third order: to let me sleep and not send for the medic. As soon as I reached the Colonel's quarters, I even slammed the door on Rob, stubbing his toes. He can deal with it, and I won't help him, no matter how many times he yells at me to open the door and give him a bandage. I mean, all he had was some blood in his boot.

~00~

That week I tried to stay in the barracks as much as possible for Hochstetter had suspected me and Rob in the bombing of Hozellenan's home. He also has been coming to camp to yell at Klink and give us minor interrogations, only to have Rob joke around about it ("Do you mean to say, Major, that we took spoons and dug out of camp, only to have a house explode with nothing? And _then_ we came back?"). And then there was me being silent. That didn't please Hochstetter any bit.

"One down and a rocket base to go," Rob said to me a day after I came back from one of Hochstetter's interrogations. I agreed with him. No matter how tense the interrogations, it is better that Hozellenan is dead, one that could have known about the operation and about who I really am. The threat, my stepfather (it is strange writing that word) is gone. The threat to our operation has vanished for a while. If only Hochstetter could get off our case! If _only_ he could get out the fact that it's done and over with!

LeBeau had taken pictures of the papers in the safe, by the way, and all of them, plus whatever papers were grabbed at the house, were sent to an Underground agent to take to London. LeBeau and Newkirk had traveled to Klink's office the first moment they had when I was taken to Hozellenan's. Newkirk cracked the safe while the picket took a turn around the office outside. Inside, they had found a treasure. The small photographed pictures showed that Hozellenan was_ really_ involved with that rocket. He was also the _scientist_ that made it happen (a Red Dragon indeed!). All those papers showed were the formulas, vivid diagrams and how to dismantle it safely. Not to mention, there were more papers about the fuel the rocket needed, its formulas and work about the main base, a secret to us. Also inside, which was surprising to me and Rob especially, were a few pictures of his wedding with Mother and another one of me and Rob just a few months before Michael was born. The two of us were standing in front of West Point Academy after Rob's graduation.

Luckily for me and Rob, all these personal pictures were taken by Newkirk and deposited on the table in Rob's quarters before the Gestapo got to it. Those other original papers, however, were taken to Gestapo headquarters unfortunately, as Hochstetter personally took charge in the investigation involving the bombing of Hozellenan's house. Hochstetter has found nothing yet and has always suspected that Rob and I are both as incriminated with the bombing but he can't prove it yet. For me, it was a relief. My relationship with Rob is still a secret to the Gestapo. Now, all we had to do was try to avoid questions from the other men. Already, Rob's crew of four and some idiotic enlisted men has bothered us about it.


	18. Into Action

During the time between the explosions of Hozellenan's house to the night of the mission, I let myself heal and try to stop obsessing that this mission will be another failure. And by that time, a plan was formulated by the Underground and London to get rid of that rocket. Of course, we were here to help. The Underground Unit 7 had detected a shack near the rocket base and a tunnel was dug by a guard assigned there, alias an Underground agent. He has been in charge of that shack on order of the Gestapo, to guard the supplies in there. In reality, he has let agents into the tunnel, had them dig and they set up a bomb under the rocket as the tunnels turns towards it. The bomb needs wiring, which seemed impossible to do with the added security, which is where we come in.

A raid has been scheduled for that night, except at an ammunitions dump nearby. When the planes start to bomb the place, the guards over at the rocket base will, most likely, come scrambling to shoot or planes, for it is within a few hundred yards. We capture them and wire the place from the bomb under the rocket, past the shack and to where we push the button. Carter and Newkirk, who are best at impersonating Germans in person, will be a help in capturing those guards at the rocket case (the Allied bombers will do the rest at the ammo dump). LeBeau will be making sure that the mission can be a go for us. He's going to ask Schultz when and if there will be any bed checks and extra roll calls in the night. LeBeau and the others prisoners of our barracks will also distract the Krauts if there's any trouble, mainly with a fire or another escapee that'll come back.

Meanwhile, Kinch, Rob and I will be waiting with the extra wiring to blow the place up. I was the one who knew where the base was and the best spot to escape, sit, wait, etc. The three of us would be waiting for a signal to come down when the coast was clear at the half mile mark on top of the hill where Nancy and I were last. We wire the place, get everybody out and watch for the fireworks. All plans of escape were planned, no notion of failure possibly thought of. Everything was created and approved by London and even the Underground.

The night of our raid, two days before they were scheduled to launch the rocket, was drawing quickly. June 19, that night to end all nights, found me jittery and just as nervous as the others in this mission. Carter was, I've noticed, was just as nervous as I am. Without his explosives and wirings working into the bomb under the shack, this mission would be a failure and the Allied Forces gone within a split second. I thought that, on the morning of the mission, he needed somebody to talk to. So, I went to the tunnels to see him and comfort him. I knew he never failed Rob with his explosives before. How can he be unsuccessful this time with the wiring he had to do?

I was even aware of more tension as soon as I stepped out of Rob's quarters. I had already prepared for my part of the mission and was watching the others pack and prepare. Rob had gone to Klink's office to inquire about our Red Cross packages (sure to be covering for some information because he wasn't so sure about tonight's plans). Wilson was shifting through supplies and "preparing for the worst." Kinch was writing last minute instructions from London in the tunnels. Newkirk was measuring the last of the uniforms needed for tonight. LeBeau was off in search of Schultz.

After searching for any signs of susceptive Krauts, I slipped down to the tunnels. I passed Kinch taking in his messages and looked for Carter, finding him in a room under Barracks 3, working on his bombs, but also something else. _Was it his last letter?_ I couldn't tell, but the paper in front of him was dated and addressed to his hometown in North Dakota.

_The last letter_, I presumed. It was something Rob explained to me last night. This letter, either kept as is or slightly altered in the coming missions, is the note your comrades send to your family when the worse happens. In this, you can say whatever you wish, except reveal what we were doing here at Stalag 13 because in comes the Krauts and we'll all dead. For all our relatives know, we're regular prisoners of war. I myself haven't been able to bring myself to write mine yet. What can I say to Father, to erase his pain of losing his only child? _I'm sorry Father, but I had to help the cause_? Jesus!

I finally got the courage to knock on the door. Carter quickly hid his paper and looked back at me, relieved. He was miserable, though, so boyish still. "Carter, what's wrong?" I asked him gently.

He replied, "Sir, I'm just worried about my last letter home a-and about the mission. It's u-up to u-us now. B-but how can I explain that?"

If he was a child, I would have swiftly held him in my arms, but this is a grown man. I walked over to reassure him. "Carter, look, I don't think we can use any adequate words to describe how much love we have to sacrifice to make a country safer for democracy. I know." I sat in the neighboring chair. "Do I _ever_ know how it feels. We can never fully explain what our motives are in this war and why we would kill Germans to win this half of the war. Nobody but us can understand that we will always love our fellow countryman and homeland. The latter wants us to kill what is evil. Or that –" I was on the verge of crying. "– we love them and that we're safe from pain that we're sorry we let them down." I knew, in my mind, Father would understand what I was doing, but how can he bear my death? To me, my death will never be important but to those around me.

I stopped my crying in its tracks and looked at Carter to see if he understood .At least Carter was less upset and that was the important thing. I closed my eyes, to hide everything I knew was showing in them, and waited for Carter to respond. Putting his hands on my shoulders (it hurt), he said, "Thanks, Sir! I mean – I really am sorry, Sir – Madam."

I sniffled and opened my eyes. I smiled and laughed as Carter let go. I didn't need any more words for our demolitions man. I got up and walked out. As soon as I walked into the hallway, Carter stuck his head out of the door and said, "Colonel, I think I know w-what I should write in my letter now."

I smiled. By then, I knew what I needed to write in mine too. "Carter, you're welcome. I think I have something to write too." That baffled face made me laugh some more, so I walked away and climbed back up to the barracks.

On my way up the ladder, Kinch stopped me. He was done writing what he was transmitted. "Is he done revising that letter yet?" he asked me as I let myself laugh once more.

~00~

I was sitting in Rob's quarters when I finished the damned stupid letter that I have dreaded to write for some time. So simple, brief and addressed to Father's stalag. I was just shoving it under my pillow when Rob came in. He shut the door behind him and smiled when he saw what I was doing. "Finished with what I told you to do?" he asked.

I nodded and asked, "Could you send this…I mean, if it doesn't cause, or I mean, hurt…"

Rob shook his head and laughed at my attempt to talk some sense. "That saucy tongue can't say anything now?" he said, tilting his head back to laugh. I smiled, knowing that Rob was nervous, biting his lip lightly as he stopped laughing. He then came over and held me. I was confused, but it appeared that he had something to ask. "Nikki, just as long as you do the same for me, I have no problem mailing yours. Same spot, on the top bunk." His nervous laughter afterward rippled in my ear, but he didn't have the last word. "Nik Nik?"

I looked up. He was using my childhood nickname that Jerry gave me the first time I came down from bed? I laughed, saying "What, Robbie?"

Rob was laughing harder at his childhood nickname. When his laughter stopped, he said, "You had better make sure that saucy tongue doesn't get tongue-tied. Maybe we'll need it!"

~00~

Klink's plans for a bed check threw us off-track for an hour despite him telling Rob over and over again that it wasn't going to happen. Of all the nights, Klink had to make his money this night, the night of a very important mission. Lucky for us, it was just about the time we would undress from our nightclothes and move. LeBeau had warned us ahead of time as well. A little apple strudel never hurt Schultz, I'm thinking ("A little means a lot for Schultz," Kinch said to me earlier). So, it was about 2243 hours before the Krauts left. Newkirk remarked, "Old Klink 'eeds some shuteye, suppose," as he tapped the bunk and climbed down with Carter, both in Kraut uniform already hidden under blankets as the Kraut guards came in to inspect.

Carter was confused as he was herded down the ladder. "Why would he need his shuteye, though?" Newkirk just rolled his eyes and hit Carter lightly on the head, pushing him down the tunnel's ladder.

According to the plan, LeBeau was staying behind to distract the guards with some other prisoners if it was discovered that five of us were missing. Carter and Newkirk were gone. Rob, Kinch and I, meanwhile, were getting antsy to go. We had to wait until the duo was way ahead of us before moving and they had to call for a clear way via the walkie-talkies. We were due at the top of the hill soon enough and because of Klink and his paranoid tendency to fall behind his record, we were put off track a bit.

Before we left, as Newkirk and Carter called us back at the base, LeBeau looked sulky. "Why do I have to be left behind?" he asked pitifully, with a pout. His usual cook assistant, Private Jerkins, was behind LeBeau. He smiled and shook his head as our cook decided that it was time for his assistant to help bake more apple strudel. He knew how the Frenchman thought he was missing all of the action. We knew the truth: it was security.

Just as Newkirk and Carter called for a clearing about a half hour later, Kinch, Rob and I snuck out through the emergency tunnels and headed in a different route, towards the hill, as was laid out by the Underground. The point to watch for the signal was the same, the same they called #36AP9ZG6I4OU, the half mile uphill point from the base. It seemed to point to a bad omen, but I knew better. Terror, however, always filled my mind.

I led the way to the hill because I was there. I did give Carter and Newkirk their directions before they left too as we will all meet there in the end. The journey for us three, in the second party, was, meanwhile, silent the whole way. The only noises I heard were German guards on the roads patrolling and checking vehicles, the faint calls of nature and Kinch panting away, carrying the fragile explosives and wiring.


	19. A Mission Completed

Tears, without control, filled my eyes as the three of us reached the top of the hill. The place was the same except the Germans had created a mass grave for those they killed and executed the last time it was breached. A few, grotesque human arms popped out of the ground, as if reaching to get out, to call for help. I was so overwhelmed that I was feeling nauseous. The feelings of last December came back, when the Germans found us out, but I quenched them quickly. There was no prickling in my neck yet. _So far, so good though…I guess_, I thought as Kinch, Rob and I picked our way to the bushes, the top that gave us a good view of everything.

Kinch had, the whole walk, carefully carried the extra explosives and wiring Carter created that morning as was specified by the Underground. Rob was constantly offering to help carry them, only to get a negative answer. All I concentrated on was getting them up the hill safely as the two argued behind me. I made no mistakes and we arrived safely to that knoll, past the German guards and checkpoints, all of which Unit 7 supplied us with: the correct locations of every single patrol. I was happy, to say the least…well, maybe more relieved.

In the meantime, all three of us sat on the same hill H8WC waited on. Kinch set himself next to the place where Nancy had leaned from, hissing "Bail!" as she saw some horror below her. I continuously looked out from the hill, looking for the signal. Rob stood behind me and gripped my unhurt shoulder. I turned to meet his glance, smiling. This meant so much to me, for it meant he, as well as I, were ready for anything.

Kinch, when seated and resting, took out a pair of binoculars and stared out to where the sign was suppose to be flashed, trying to take my place in searching for the safety signal. He positioned himself that way for a long time before putting them down a few minutes later. "Colonel Hogan, the signal is being flashed!" he said.

Rob broke away from me and peeked out from where we were as Kinch handed him the binoculars. The light, flashing ten times, meant that the coast was clear. And that dim light did flash those ten times and then it was darkness once again. Rob watched for the light again, just in case something went wrong, but nothing did. "Ok, let's move on out," he said. But when I moved forward, I stopped as Rob suddenly turned back and looked at Kinch, who was groaning at the weight of the explosives as he picked them up again.

"Kinch, are you ready? Can you carry that demo pack and wiring?" Rob asked him anxiously. I stuffed my knuckles in my mouth, for it was a little amusing how Kinch was trying to get up and walk with the explosives, which can blow us up any minute he does something wrong. Careful and cautious and yet determined and stubborn I noted about Kinch – and me laughing as if being blown to bits was bloody funny!

Kinch could only say these words under his panting: "Colonel, I'm all right. I just think that my injured shoulders will need a Purple Heart after tonight, thanks to Carter." I almost laughed again and even saw a smile being played upon Rob's face, indicating his hopes. In the distance, the three of us, as we headed down the hill, heard a hum of planes and an explosion at the ammo dump.

~00~

"So far, so good, I guess," Rob repeated my earlier thoughts, staring up enviously at the starry skies. Below us were the rocket base and the gallows. They were full of traitors to the Third Reich, still hanging and swaying in the light summer breeze.

"Lucky for us, this is all downhill. I can't imagine how much fun sledding is on this hill," Rob joked as we reached the bottom of #36AP9ZG6I4OU. Quickly, quietly, we moved downhill where we met Carter at the open gate where, hands on hip, the Sergeant expressed his impatience and complaint.

"Geez, w-where have you been?" Carter asked. "We've s-signaled you ten minutes ago!" I was ready to hit him on the head for the child he was acting like and stopped myself, so much unlike Newkirk. _Did he really act like this all the time here?_

"Carter, shut up. Let's just get this place wired and get it over with. Where are those guards?" Rob was becoming worried about the guards that we saw some run off when the ammo dump exploded.

Carter reassured of him not only his continuing childlike behavior, but that we were really clear from all Krauts. "Boy, I mean, Sir – we're ready for those explosives. All ready to wire them to the main one in the shack's tunnel."

I was relieved and relaxed a little as soon as I heard the words. I saw that all was in order. Carter was showing Rob and Kinch where to wire. Newkirk, as I turned to my left, was yelling from beyond the shack. "Blimey!" he yelled. I ran off in the direction of his voice and almost laughed. He was watching over some German guards that didn't get anywhere near the ammo dump and was trying to keep them intact like children in a pen. He had most of them (about eight of them remained with him), but others escaped.

I came over and in an instant unhooked my gun from my belt yelling in German, "Get the hell over here or I shoot!" Most had listened, but two escaped, both similar in their temperament and size. Others, instead of listening and coming over, shot themselves in the head (quickly and without us checking for weapons, stupid us!) to escape our Allied P.O.W. camps. I winced at their brutal end. It was a gory mess, indeed.

"Bloody hell, gov'ness, they'll such an 'andful!" Newkirk said, "The 'nderground also took the important ones, but why they leave us with the 'ifficult ones, I'll never know."

I smiled at Newkirk. He was right: we're usually left with the difficult ones and they never listen to us. By then, though, we were all settled and most, who didn't bother to kill themselves, gave in calmly and were tied up and handed over to the in-coming Unit 7 agents, off to take them to England. Afterward, it was a piece of cake to watch the Krauts. While babysitting the remaining behaving prisoners, I watched the wiring for a while. It was a relief to hand over the guards, I'll say, so it was an almost relaxing few minutes observing the quick tying up of wires and explosives, the feeling of _success_.

An hour passed. The two that escaped were searched for in the meantime, but nobody could find them. It chilled me that they could be a threat to the operation and my neck prickled every time I thought about it. Nothing more was even mentioned of them, not even as the wiring was finished and we were readying ourselves to leave. I got up, intent on going over to Rob and giving up to a sheer moment of pleasure when a sense of terror filled me. I knew it was about those two missing guards. I went to find them immediately. It wasn't hard to find them when, as the last of the guards were loaded into a truck and rolling away with Unit 7, that a gun barrel was pointed at my head.

Newkirk, who was at the scene with me as I watched the German prisoners, was startled at first and stopped when the voice with the gun said, "Move and the Colonel dies!" The other disarmed Newkirk and tried shooting at the moving truck with the remaining guards, but in vain as the Underground was far away from them then. He continued to hold onto Newkirk and put him in a headlock. A gun was also pointed at his head. The voice, I knew, belonged to Kurt. Warner was holding Newkirk hostage in a headlock.

Newkirk was unable to move or to even yell for help without being shot to bits. Our only hope was that somehow, Rob, Kinch or even Carter will see this. And they did as soon as my hopes were thought out. Rob was running when he saw the danger and stopped short when he saw that the two meant business with their death threats. I was scared worse than anyone else, though. Kurt only held me tighter and moved the gun closer to me head. "You Jewish bitch…you traitor, you spy…what George would do if he were here and not a spy like you." His rant went on. I closed my eyes and waited for the end that was bound to happen.

A gun spoke. Afterward, a series of them rang in my ears. It was everywhere, a part of my life, once again. There was no escaping it.

Newkirk was down, face-first, on the ground with Warner on top of him. I wasn't sure who was shot or who shot who until I heard another gun sound from Rob's firearm. I ducked down as Kurt dropped me in the surprise counter fire, missing whatever came my way. Kurt fired back, blood on his uniform, and then at me, but he narrowly missed the back of my neck and back.

I couldn't think after that. What happened next went so fast that I couldn't remember anything but what my senses – saw, felt, heard – knew in a blur. All I felt was Rob scooping me up and carrying me uphill. Newkirk, Carter and Kinch were already running way in front of him as they recovered from this fright. About three quarters of the way up, Rob stopped and put me down. I laid there without feeling as Rob lectured. "Nikki, come on. We have to get going. This place is going to go up soon."

I wasn't listening to him; I was in such a daze. I stood right back up and was gazing back at the base. Warner was face-down on the ground still, without moving. Kurt was getting up, shot up and bloody as he was. It didn't matter after a few seconds as they would have died anyhow. The rocket base exploded and was in flames. Debris was flying everywhere.

Rob knocked me to the ground and was lying on top of me to block all extra debris. I was unmoving. I only stared at the fire that came with each explosion. It lit the night skies like another sun. It was showing the Krauts that we were surely the culprits, along with the Underground. We needed to run soon enough.

"Colonel Hogan!" Kinch was running down the hill and shielding his eyes from the objects scattering everywhere. "What a bang! This is got to be the best one Andrew had helped to make and –" Kinch stopped as soon as he saw us.

Newkirk trialed downhill after him and skidded to a stop next to my head, helping Rob up. "Come on, gov'ness, let's get out of here," he said. But I couldn't go back to camp. I just _couldn't_, even though it would mean the death of me. Kurt and Warner are dead and it's my fault. They were but people, _family_, who I have failed to help see who I really am.

Rob lifted me up again and put me over his shoulders without any protest. I didn't care. "Nikki, are you alright? Miss Saucy Tongue, are you answering?" I didn't answer and didn't need to. Rob knew what was wrong and didn't press his jokes any further. "All right, fellows, it was a good job. Let's get back to camp before Hochstetter does."

And yet, _still_, in this great victory, I still wouldn't speak. When we reached the camp, I lightly struggled for my own feet and went straight into my night clothes and to my bunk. Not a word was spoken even then, not even answering LeBeau's questions, Kinch's concerns and even Rob's constant worries.


	20. The Healing Process

For weeks after the destruction of the rocket base, I still wouldn't speak. I barely ate and slept, strolled into and stood in roll call three or four times a day and isolated myself from the other prisoners. I especially made sure that nobody would ever find me and that they never talked to me, especially Rob. The deaths hit me hard and it didn't matter how much they didn't mean to me in the years that we've been together and apart. It was still those I knew and might have come to love had not their actions pushed me from them.

In the meantime, Father had been writing to me from Stalag 10, but each letter has been censured by the Krauts, even his profound lines of wisdom and love to me, the same comforting words I heard before his leaving. I couldn't read them. I stuffed them under my pillow, all wet with my tears of anguish and pain. I knew, even then, that this was some spell I couldn't get out of this time, not for a long time.

~00~

The prisoners around the camp were not the only ones that noticed how unusual my behavior was. Rob, as it turns out, told Klink about it, minus our activities, after Klink noticed that I had forgotten to eat for days at a time. Klink even saw me lingering around the camp alone as everyone went to their meals and took note that every time I was called in for something to eat, I ran off to someplace more secluded. For almost a week, I didn't bother to come for breakfast, lunch or dinner. LeBeau had been badgering me to eat, so I learned to hide from him every time I saw him turn the corner.

And so, just like that, Klink has to know my problems, even when he notices something wrong. As a matter of fact, early in July, I was called to Klink's office. I was around Barracks 14 this time and trying to hide from the constant staring I felt, but knew wasn't there. Schultz had found me, curled up in a ball on the ground, hiding from my illusions. He said that Kommandant Klink wished to see me in his office immediately. I got up, thinking what a difference it would make. It was easy in, easy out, just like always.

Apparently, this was not one of those visits that required some lying and getting out easily because this involved Rob. When he sides with Klink, I am powerless. No, really, Rob was standing there talking in whispers to Klink as soon as I arrived inside Klink's office. They both stopped when they noticed the door open and saw me and Schultz. Schultz quickly saluted and left me be vulnerable someplace I'd rather not be in. Rob, however, looked at me with his anxious eyes. Even Klink was stern in his manner.

Klink motioned me to a chair next to Rob and said, "Colonel, please sit." Both, I'm sorry to say at this moment, were genuinely disturbed by my appearance. In the first weeks I was at Stalag 13, I had gained some weight, especially after Mezle visited me. Now, days after the explosion, I had lost it all and was almost back to the weight I had when I left the death camp called Auschwitz. My clothes barely fit and I could see my bones protruding everywhere again, a matter I never cared for then.

I obeyed, only waiting for Klink to ramble on how I should carry on, but his words touched me this time. "Colonel Michalovich, I am regretted by the sudden loss of most of your family. I also understand that how you feel about this and that somehow, you are responsible. There has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13 –" Rob gave Klink a look as he too seated himself next to me, putting his hand on my back as if to reassure me. Then Klink stopped rambling about his record and carried on with his noble speech. "Colonel Hogan has noticed a sudden change in your behavior. I just wanted you to know that, even though we're enemies, my door is open, as else everyone humane around this camp."

_There is such thing as a humane Kraut_? _That's a revelation_, I thought, almost feeling as if I was back to normal again. The clouds _almost_ pulled away.

Klink then stood up, went to the opposite side of his office and took some alcohol out of a cabinet and poured out three glasses. He handed a glass to me and Rob and declared treasonous words to the Third Reich: "To those who died." We stood up with our glasses. Our glasses clanked and we drank. The bitter liquid burned my throat, making me tear up, something unusual for me because I had always loved to drink.

I couldn't take it anymore at that point and put my glass down on Klink's desk. "Thank you very much, Kommandant," was all said before I practically ran out the door and into Fräu Linkmeyer, the first words I had said in weeks.

But before I even reached the door to go back outside, Rob ran out, grabbed me by the arm and escorted me to the barracks. I wanted to go in another direction, but Rob held onto me steadfast. "Lunch?" he asked. I sighed and nodded my head. Before we went into Barracks 2, however, Rob pulled me closer and whispered in my ear, "Window washing tonight, 2430 hours." He let me go and opened the door for me. I entered in, trying to dodge LeBeau in the process. Coincidentally, he was serving lunch and making sure I was going to eat this time, giving me a large portion. I sighed and consented, escaping with the barest amount in my mouth before leaving the barracks again.

While eating lunch in the smallest portions, I thought about Rob's coded message. Window washing…that means that somebody wants to see me tonight to clear something up with me. _But who was it? And was this a trap that they overlooked?_ Tonight, I needed to find out. In the interim, it was time to quiet down some concerns.

~00~

Kinch had said that the meeting was at 2430 hours about five miles east of the camp, in an abandoned house deep in the Hammelburg woods. Since most of the guards were off-duty that night and in town to drink and party, it was a perfect time to escape to this meeting. However, since Hozellenan's house has been destroyed, the Gestapo has been stepping up its patrols and checkpoints. I had to be careful and carry enough false papers to satisfy any Gestapo agent in the woods. Also, I had to watch for Hochstetter. He knew me by sight so I had to be extra sure to stay away from him and his goons.

As I was dressing privately in the tunnel, Rob and his crew came down, each person having a piece to say to me. I had calmed down enough from the episode in Klink's office and wasn't as upset as I had been before. I was still just as disheartened as ever though and didn't need anyone coming down and wishing me well on my meeting. I wanted to be left alone. But behind the curtain, I heard them all.

Newkirk: "Careful now, gov'ness, too 'any Krauts 'nd Gestapo around."

LeBeau: "Come back safely, Colonel, and be careful."

Kinch: "Be cautious, Colonel Michalovich. Run away if necessary." I had come out from behind the curtain then. Kinch handed me a small handgun and the coordinates to my destination. I accepted them and stuffed them, along with my false papers, in my bag. I smiled at him and he grinned back at me.

Carter: "C-come back, Sir – Madam. This place wouldn't be the same without you. Oh no, Sir, there can't be another Colonel –"

"Carter, shut up." Rob handed me the last of my papers and glanced at me. There can be no more words between us, for our eyes said our goodbyes. Not wanting to linger and get lost in Rob's eyes once more, I picked up my bag, flung it over my shoulder and left, climbing up the ladder, wordless and not at all afraid. I ducked under the spotlight that shone upon the stump for a few seconds and then went off into the night, almost careless and free.

I reached my destination on time, at about 2430 hours, after dodging too many Gestapo agents and once, at about a mile from camp, Hochstetter. I swore, I thought he was on my tail and was about to catch me, to prove that we're all spies, but I escaped quickly. I didn't think Hochstetter knew I was around, but I could never be sure with him.

After gluing myself to the shape of the hut upon arrival, I noticed that it was really a small shelter that has seen too many bombings and raids. The woods around it covered all signs of detection however, so if the Gestapo cannot find me now, they will never find me here. But it still did not take away the fear of discovery. It was my constant companion, to be sure, for the rest of my time here in Germany.

I did find the courage, in a way, to run to the door and knock. I knocked five times and waited for the door to open. A few minutes later, the door opened slightly, an old, wizened face peering out. "Who's there? Who is this person that bothers me in the middle of the night?" he asked. He spoke in German, but had a Russian accent to his voice. A Soviet soldier or spy to the Underground? I was not sure, but I was sure where he came from.

Now it was my turn to volley the code. I whispered in German, "I have been searching for some answer up the stairs and down the hallway. I did not find an answer, but I did hear the call of a nightbird, singing 'Come away.'" This was the only code that can identify, to London and everyone else, who I am: Desertstar, Underground agent.

The man did open the door some more when he heard this. "Come in, little nightbird. I see that you have heard me in the morning," he said.

To complete the code, I said, "I even heard you at nightfall and sometimes to be near you is to be unable to feel you."

The man sighed audibly and let me inside. "Welcome back, Desertstar," he said, letting me in. I entered the hut. It was a one room hut with a dingy bedroom, kitchen and sitting room combination. Half of the roof had been destroyed in some bombing, so cool air sank into the hut. A table to the left showed some sort of domestic environment.

The man, while noticing that I was looking around, motioned me to a seat at the table. As soon as we sat, he quickly stated his business, blunt and to the point. _I like him already_, I thought as he said, "Colonel, I am Vladimir Pulokt of the Soviet Underground. On behalf of the Underground sects here, I would like to thank you and those at Stalag 13 who have participated in the destruction of the rocket base. As the last survivor of H8WC, we at the Allied Headquarters and the Underground couldn't have done this job without your knowledge. Therefore, the High Command, in recognition of this deed, has offered to bring you home with a promotion and a transfer, permanently, to the United States. We have your replacement at Stalag 13 ready if you wish to go ahead to the United States." He smiled at me and waited for my answer.

I couldn't believe my ears or what was going on. Go _home_: to where and what, though? What about Rob, Father and the rest of the prisoners at Stalag 13? I couldn't just leave them here in Germany while I danced around stateside. Sure, they can all go on without me, but how can I live with myself? I can't live safely while men everywhere are being killed for defending their country against Germany, especially those at Stalag 13! To me, it was unfair. This may be my only chance to get back home, but I cannot take it without my conscience bothering me. I might never see Rob and his crew at Stalag 13 _ever_ again.

Pulokt must have noticed my confused and worried look for he said, "Colonel, it has always been your choice. The High Command understands if you stay. But, if you stay, you stay until our Soviet tanks roll into the gates of Stalag 13 when the war is over or whenever the Germans wish to release you from captivity."

I thought for a minute before deciding for good. _To leave or stay, leave or stay?_ Should it be Rob and Father or the comforts of home and civilian life? The more I thought of my decision, the more confident I grew that it was the correct choice to stay at Stalag 13. I shouldn't be selfish anymore. "I'm staying."

Pulokt smiled at me and said, "Colonel, I knew as much." He rose from his seat. "Again, I congratulate you on a mission well done."

I, too, rose from my seat, figuring that this conversation was over, and was heading out the door when Pulokt stopped me. "Colonel, I have a letter from your father for you. He has escaped Stalag 10 a few days ago and is in our Soviet State now. I feel honored to tell you that he is safe and doing well now. He wishes you and Colonel Hogan the best." He handed me the letter. It made me ready to weep with joy! Father was safe, not in Auschwitz, Stalag 10 or in some place rotting away. He was safe in Russia again! I thanked Pulokt enthusiastically and was going to leave when he stopped me again. "Colonel, High Command has sent out an M.I.A. notice to the family of Major Donovan-White."

I gulped, for this is the task that I have been thinking about and dreading for a while because I knew I was the one who was to do it. Pulokt only told me the obvious. "They ask, since you have been the last to be with her, to notify them of her death and write to her family about her. They have had no word about her in two months. They need some word from someone they know and trust. You are the chosen one."

I nodded my head and started out the door, as quickly as this meeting was. Pulokt called out his thanks and said as I ran into the woods, "Little nightbird, be careful. And thank you for washing my windows!"


	21. Acceptance

I arrived just in time for morning roll call, a little later than the usual dawn roll call. On the way back, I was almost caught, once more, by Gestapo agents and Hochstetter almost shot at me (I can tell he was enthusiastically shooting, but kept missing me in his sheer excitement). I was very tired when I arrived. Schultz was still trying to count our group and figuring out _why_ I was missing. But I had the other men in my barracks confusing him, just so that I can come in undetected.

Newkirk was fooling with Schultz's head. "Oh, come on, Schultzie, there are _sixteen_ of us here and if you're countin' fifteen, then you're countin' wrong. You don't count by ones, you count by…" And so it went until Rob signaled for him to stop as soon as I snuck next to him in formation. Newkirk then stepped back into the line, just as the Kommandant came out for his usual report and Hochstetter rolled in through the Main Gate with a few Gestapo goons in toll in the truck that came with him.

Klink jumped back from his usual spot in front of formation as Hochstetter came out of his car and started yelling. "Klink, what is the meaning of this? You know that the prisoners are guilty in the bombing of the General Hozellenan's home and in the bombing of the rocket base this week! I saw Colonel Hogan outside of camp last night. When I have the evidence, heads will roll!" Klink was babbling again about there never being an escape from Stalag 13 but was led to his office by an angry Hochstetter, almost by the collar. Schultz sighed and just dismissed us, signaling the other barracks dismissed too, and left.

As we scattered among the camp, Rob caught up with me as I, too, walked away from the heat of the arguing. Again, it was just Hochstetter imagining some things. "Anything from London?" he asked.

"No, just a word for a mission well done and many thanks," I said. I wasn't really paying attention to much of anything beyond what Rob had asked, but was more concentrated on the unread letter from Father. I just stared out beyond the wired fence and wondered how Father was right now. What is he doing? What is he thinking about right now? And Nancy…where is she buried? Her body deserves to be home and not in a mass shallow grave somewhere. She deserves that much and the proper respect she wasn't given in the last months of her life.

I wasn't aware that Rob was gone and that Newkirk and LeBeau were leading me back to the barracks. Everything and everyone in the barracks were unusually quiet and the usual buzz from the other prisoners was gone. All I was aware of afterward, in seeing myself in the barracks, was breaking away from the two and heading to Rob's quarters with a thought in my head. I had to get that letter done to Nancy's family. The letter was long overdue and I was the person to tackle the job. My letter from Father can wait. I can read it anytime I wanted to at this point. I had all the time in the world.

~00~

That same evening I emerged for dinner with two letters in my hand. One was for the Allied Headquarters on Nancy's death (my version of the story and they probably have whatever else Rob told them) and the other for her family. Many eyes looked to me as I came out, but not one of them belonged to Rob. Otherwise, as I looked to them, I saw that it was a normal evening for us prisoners, with men reading letters, sleeping or complaining about the food which was just about to be served. I searched for Kinch and found him standing next to LeBeau and Jerkins, who was cooking dinner and was ready to serve it. I grabbed Kinch's attention and asked, "Kinch, could you reply this to London please?" I handed him the brief note and watched his eyes scan its contents. He noted the urgency of the message and nodded his head. There was another thing I had to do though.

I sighed and went to sit back down at a table. I hadn't seen Rob all day, not since roll call, and I didn't wish to see him right at that moment because I wanted to let myself learn trust in what I must do. So, I asked out loud to everyone in the room, "Where is Colonel Hogan?"

Everybody just stopped what they were doing and the complaints for food were silenced. Carter, who popped his head out of his bottom bunk, said, "He's in Colonel Klink's o-office asking about our Red Cross p-packages. They were due last week."

"Good," I answered shaking slightly. "I want you all to hear this letter I was writing. The Colonel can read this later." I heard many groans from many prisoners, who just went back to what they were doing, but at least Rob's crew of four was always there. Kinch moved in closer to table and sat down.

"We're listening, Colonel," Kinch said. Newkirk, who had been one of those who complained about the food earlier, jumped to his bunk and leaned forward. LeBeau and Jerkins were serving dinner to those who wanted it, so they stood in awareness by the table as they were serving. Carter got out of his bunk and sat next to Kinch. Most others ignored me and when back to their activities.

I cleared my throat and started. "This is a letter that I have written to the family of Major Donovan-White's family. They have had no word about her…after her capture by the Germans and only have an M.I.A. notice. I feel, as many others do, that I should break the news to her family about what the Gestapo did. I was the last person to be with her and to know of her demise." I shuddered at the word "demise" and I still do today. But at that moment, and even right now, I could still feel the pain I felt when I lost her and I wanted to get this letter out and done with. Besides, I also didn't want Rob to read this yet, or even be there when I read this out loud because I knew his worry. I still don't know why I did this, but rationalized it with wanting to trust everyone, especially Kinch.

I began to read the letter out loud.

_To the family of Major Nancy Donovan-White:_

_I cannot express the extreme sorrow and pain in telling you of the death of your beloved family member – mother and wife – Major Nancy Sarah Donovan-White. I cannot also convey the courage she has shown in the last moments of her life, to me and to those around her._

I stopped and gazed up. They were still listening, so I continued.

_She died graciously in the hands of the Germans on May 4 of this year, a mere few months ago. In my own grief in losing her, I still cannot comprehend why she chose the path that she went down. Her actions have saved me and those around her that she barely knew._

_Nancy, my mentor for many years, was a shining light in this bleak war. She has also meant the world to me since I was a child. I am proud to have served and worked with her for the time that was given to me. And it was not just I that was proud to serve with her, but all of those around her. She has proved to me, and many others as well, her strength, determination, courage and duty, as an officer and a gentleman and a human being, to work for those around her. She has also proved to us her part as a humanitarian and healer and her additional duty, as an officer and a gentleman, to serve those around her that she loved or was commanding, in the face of danger. Her last words were that she loved her enemies, no matter what they did to her. She faced them with dignity and grace_

_I'm sorry to have confirmed the Army's claim that Nancy has gone. My condolences go out to you and your family in these times of troubles. I hope that this war cannot last any longer and that we meet again to talk. I hope that, as you do, we will all come home soon enough._

_Sincerely,_

_Colonel Nikola A. Michalovich  
__U.S. Army, Stalag 13, Hammelburg, Germany_

I finally finished reading the letter and looked up to see the same serious faces around me. I put the letter on the table next to my plate, which LeBeau had put down for me when he was serving dinner to the other prisoners. But at the point, I had tears fill my eyes and then, suddenly, I put my knuckles to my mouth to suppress a sob. I finally let myself go and cried. I had not cried about Nancy in months, and kept my grief so quiet, but then, with the letter out of my way, I let it all go.

I then felt what seemed to be a thousand pair of arms around me.

~00~

It had taken quite a number of days, but I felt myself slowly adjust to prison life and turn back to normal, or close to what was normal for me. I let myself, slowly as first, out of my shelter and talked to the other prisoners of the camp. So far, most had treated me with respect and gave me distance and privacy. Most knew that I was in a horrible place before Stalag 13 and never asked what had happened. Rob said that, someday, when I was ready, I can tell him about my misadventures. I have had too many of them and they will not end anytime soon.

Which reminds me…the picture that Newkirk took from Hozellenan's black bag came back to haunt me. Now everyone in the camp knows of my relationship with Rob except the Krauts (let them speculate), which has never bothered me until now. This is all in thanks to Newkirk, who has graciously passed it around and started this gossip. Most just scowled at me and walked off. They don't care about my life or even the picture. Others inquire, especially for the embarrassing stories. Mostly, it is just Carter and Newkirk asking and teasing us, those devils! Now I wish that it was never found.

My wounds never exactly healed, but since Klink allowed exercise, I, as time went on, went out of the barracks and join in a game of basketball or baseball or whatever the guys were playing. I had also learned, through the help of my friends here, to try to let go of my guilt for the deaths I had learned of. I still feel the hurt each event gave me, even now. In turn, I have made myself available to anyone who needs to talk to me. I am always there to listen, console and offer advice when it's wanted. Plus, being a nurse is an advantage, for they all trusted me when they fell sick. I'm a woman, they miss them and so, there I am. I think Wilson is somehow relieved.

Best of all (to me, at least), Father was safe, Rob was alive and I had the respect of many men in this camp, even Schultz and Klink (Schultz has told me that he often thinks of me as his daughter, which I took to be a compliment, which surprised him), who keep away from me as much as possible, if necessary. It's all I can be thankful for.

Nancy's husband, Stephen White, had received word from High Command about her fortune and the letter I had sent to him earlier. He and his children, who are still living in England, are in extreme sorrow in Nancy's death and have asked (especially the children, who are about a decade younger than I am) that I talk to them in person after the war because a letter cannot say and express the words and pain in her untimely death. Mr. White has also asked that I met him back in Bridgeport, whenever I am back stateside, and take a walk with him. He wants to know everything about his wife's death and I am willing to tell him everything if I could manage it.

More importantly, I had joined the Underground operation here on a permanent basis despite the danger it will be causing me and Rob's operation here. I had no special talents but am always there for anything Rob, the Underground and London throw at me. I had more ideas on destroying the Axis Powers in Europe and was excited about their downfall. Hopefully, this war will be over soon. Already, there are secrets shrouded from us that indicate that he war would be over sooner, if not within a few years' time. We have figured them, somehow – Rob and I speculate all the time – and only help in bringing it to an end and stop the Nazis from their journey to conquer the world.

And so it goes.

~00~

What was so funny about being here is the way I was always eager to accomplish my duties to the Underground and London. I always was aware of the camp more and paid more attention to the bugs around camp, especially the one in Klink's office. Even Schultz has given more than enough information about what goes on around here with the help of some chocolate bars from the Red Cross packages (either that or he "sees nothing, hears nothing and knows nothing"). This has made it easier for me especially when he falls to a sweet person like me or when he falls for a bar of chocolate, which is equally sugary to him.

I even almost went giddy with glee when our next mission against Germany came from London. Kinch took a message from Headquarters in London to photograph and send the next war plans of Germany, which will be displayed at a party in Paris for the top generals. Rob, Kinch and I were to go tomorrow, after convincing Klink to go to Berlin for vacation and getting one of our own to replace him. Our mission is to distract (me), photograph (Rob) and relay (Kinch).

I was ready and willing to go back to where I started, in this game of spying, even if it brings me back more memories. I'm feeling almost as ready and willing to put my past behind me and move on with my life. I have mostly accepted what has happened and am more than happy to save those in Germany's tight hands (anybody away from them makes me happier). Someone is being saved from the clenches of what we call evil. The feelings of depression will always remain, but the feeling of hope will always flutter someplace.

Nancy is dead, but her spirit and courage will always live in me. And someday I will learn that perhaps, even in the toughest years of my life that I'm sure are ahead of me, to acknowledge what they did. I also need to find out more about George and his turncoat actions. _Or was it all a mistake?_

I went to Rob's quarters to prepare for the mission.

~00~

_The Colonel put her pen down and looked out the slightly opened window. The day was going to be long and hot and the dawn's sun was already proving it. _Maybe Klink would let roll call be short today, _she thought to herself._ Maybe we can open the windows to the barracks this time, too_._ Klink can't be all that inhumane and cruel. I can't be out of uniform – neither can the other men, for that matter – but it helps.

_Her companion on the top bunk, Colonel Robert Hogan, had stirred from his sleep and rolled over in the direction of Colonel Michalovich. He looked down and smiled at her. "Been writing your grand speech to Klink about this heat?" he joked. She nodded her head, smiled and tilted her head to laugh. She felt closer to Colonel Hogan and the men in this camp more than before. The trust was there._

_Hogan even jumped from his bunk and opened the window some more. He let the small breeze that come through miraculously and let it comb his hair. He grabbed Colonel Michalovich and held her in front of him to the breeze, enjoying another small moment with her. Shortly afterward, within their moments alone, the bell rang for roll call. Both colonels quickly left each others' grasps and went to get dressed, ready to put on another stoic face to their Germans captors._

_As she watched Colonel Hogan leave to rouse his men in the next room of the barracks, Colonel Michalovich looked back to her thick account. She took it, suffering thin cuts o her hands, and stuffed it hurriedly in her footlocker. She left the room, confident that the Gestapo will never find her confession. Outside she went, to join the others at roll call._

_As the Colonel was walking out the door, she softly sang a song that she and Colonel Hogan had written together when they were in Bridgeport:_

Oh, but does she call to me from a feather in the meadow, "Fly to me"  
You can dance and sing and walk with me  
And dreams will fade and shadows grow in weed  
She does as she pleases, she waits there for me  
She does as she pleases, her heels rise for me

My love, she talks to winking windows  
As she murmurs to her feet, thoughtfully  
She separates in laughter to my side, caught for me  
She does as she pleases, she waits there for me  
She does as she pleases, her heels rise for me

* * *

**Afterward:**** Again, I am grateful to those who have created these characters and the musicians who have written these lyrics, for the story will never be the same without them. Also, I want to apologize for those I offended in writing this story, for history is never the same, nor is it as vivid, as those who have witnessed it firsthand. I'm sorry that I have not gotten everything accurate or have invaded a part of history that should remain private. For all those who have read it, thank you! If you enjoyed this, I do have another story being written as we speak. Again, thank you to all who have read this!**


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